


The Winchesters

by Deadmockingbirds



Series: The Winchester's Series [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, BDSM, BDSM is Sastiel, Baby Dean, Castiel in Charge, Daddy Sam, Diapers, Discipline, Domestic Discipline, Fluff, Infantilism (kinda), Little Dean, M/M, Pacifiers, Possessive Castiel, Rough Sex, Sastiel - Freeform, Spanking, Wee Dean, bottles, cuteness, mini Dean, non-con infantilism, papa cas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-11
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2018-03-07 04:00:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 32
Words: 234,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3160409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deadmockingbirds/pseuds/Deadmockingbirds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean gets spiked with a drug that is being used in this world to give people a second chance at life. Only Dean liked his old life fine, but after a hunt gone wrong he ends up as the adopted child of the Winchesters. Problem is, he still has all of his old memories and can't quite let go of the fact that he's twenty-eight and not a toddler. Not to mention, he wants revenge on whoever did this to him. If only having Cas and Sam as parents wasn't so damn wonderful; this whole acid trip would be easier to figure out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Not in Kansas Anymore

**Author's Note:**

> I was inspired by two very wonderful stories and this popped in my head. 
> 
> This first chapter is short, but the chapters get longer and longer as the story develops.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Note:**
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> All of Mock's stories are read at your own risk. I can't possibly tag for everything that each individual feels this should be tagged for. Also, I don't want to give everything thing away. I feel the "most importants" are here. If you don't like, simply press "x". Thanks! Happy reading.

"We found him in a car," she says.

Yeah, _my_ fucking car, if they've touched Baby, I'll kill them with my bare hands—

"Someone, just left him there?" a man's voice asks.

"Yes, and we think we interrupted them mid-modification. He's still changing, he's not even had time to adjust yet. But we think it's better he goes straight to a home if he can. He's been here for three days. When he got here, he looked the age his driver's license says: Twenty-eight."

Someone gives an appraising low whistle. "Wow, there's no way he looks a day over nineteen, now." The voice is low and gravely.

"We had to give him sedatives, to stop the twitching, they gave him too much too soon and they've somehow made the process move a lot quicker than with what we use."

"How old will he shrink? To?"

"Hard to say. Never seen it quite like this before. We know they used a type of Modlenol, and that's all we know on the drug side of things. We were able to garner more info about him."

How did they get information on me, exactly? I make it so I'm not found.

"So he'll be a moddler?" a gentle voice asks.

A moddler? Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Talk about a hunt gone wrong.

"Is that all right with you and your husband? Your adoption application didn't specify."

"No. I mean, that's fine," the gentle voice says, almost desperate. "It doesn't matter to us, he's perfect; we're more worried about him."

Can't argue with that. I am pretty perfect.

"Well sir, he hasn't got much choice in the matter now. Even though he didn't choose to become a moddler, as many do, he is now, and therefore requires at least one legal guardian. If you two don't take him, I've got to find someone else. Dean's biological parents are dead you see."

"No—" the other one, the gravely one, cuts in. "We want him. We'd like to take Dean home and as soon as possible."

_Wait. What? Take him home? Legal guardian?_

I try moving again, but can't. It feels like when you wake up paralyzed in the middle of the night—I can hear everything they're saying clearly, but I can't move enough to open my eyes and damn if my nose isn't itchy. Must be the 'sedatives', though I doubt they're any regular sedatives. I thought sedatives were supposed to make you sleepy? I don't feel fucking sleeepy.

"We're a pretty packed agency—especially with moddlers these day, second chance at life and all—we like to get the kids out immediately. All I have to do is get our med staff to wake him up. There's some pretty potent stuff in that drip going in his arm—he's out like a light. Can't hear a word we're saying."

No shit there's potent stuff going in me, and nice try, but I can hear what you're saying, so you might as well let me the fuck up.

"You mean we can take him home today? Cas did you hear that?" 

"I did Baby," 'Cas' answers. I hear them kiss.

Oh God. This lady is giving me to the gay equivalent of June and Ward Cleaver.

"I'll send in the team to wake him, then. In the mean time, we'll set you up with another social worker who will tell you what you need to know about this stage—while he's still changing—to make his transition is smooth and get him into the mindset. As you can imagine, it may be more challenging with Dean since this was not his choice."

Shit. I have to get out of this and fast. Is there anyway to reverse the effects of Modlenol?

"As you know, once someone's been injected with Modlenol, their only way out is to grow up again."

At least she's answering my questions.

"Okay. Thanks Sabrina, really. We're just surprised this could happen so fast. We were told we may have to wait a long time for a boy," the man I recognize as 'Cas' says.

"You two were my best application," she says, her distantly professional voice a little warmer. "When he came in, I thought you two would be perfect for him."

"Sam, did you hear that, Baby? We're finally going to be parents."

"Yeah, I'm just in shock."

Someone's moving closer to me and I can't fucking move away. It's Sam. "Dean," Sam says. "I like that. Dean…"


	2. Changes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean goes home. More changes are on the horizon.

"Seriously, stay the fuck away from me, dude." I'm awake and I'm not pleased. On my list of things pissing me off is my voice, which is about two octaves higher than it's supposed to be. Not like when I was thirteen, but more like when I was nineteen, because I guess I am now. It's seriously killing my rep.

Soon as the doctor released me, in other words filtered out whatever medicine crap they had pumping through my blood—the stuff that was supposed to keep me asleep—I hopped out of the damn bed.

"Dean. Dean, calm down, buddy. I'm not going to hurt you."

"Damn straight you're not." I found what I could for a weapon in the form of a broom handle I broke in half. Barely. All my strength seems to have fucking fled the building.

The doctor has his arm extended toward me, palm open in an 'easy-boy' manner, his face is etched with genuine concern. I'm good at reading people, a master at it actually, been doing it since I was six, which if I don't figure out something quick, I'm going to be by the end of the week.

Speaking of six, yes _six_ , men (some nurses, some not) join us and surround me in a semi-circle. "Oh come on, this is seriously over kill."

"Just put the broom down, Dean. None of us are going to hurt you, but we will have to restrain you, if you don't cooperate."

I look around for an exit of any kind—there is none, except the door, blocked by Fabio's goon squad. "Screw you. Let me go and _you_ won't get hurt." I stab the jagged edge of the broom at them threateningly, but I'm still a little wigged out from the meds they've been shoving into me and I feel jittery. I'm sure I don't look as threatening as I wanna look.

"Let me just call your parents, okay buddy?"

"So not your buddy and I don't have parents." Mom died shortly after I was born (demon fire), Dad died five years ago when he sold his soul for me.

I see him give the nod, probably before he's even realized he's done it. I go at him with my broom weapon anyway, even though I know they'll have me, I'm going down fighting. Within moments I'm being restrained by four of the men and that's when two other stricken looking men show up to the party.

"What's going on?" I recognize the gravely voice right away—it's the Cas guy. "Doctor?"

Meanwhile, I'm struggling, but it's useless, especially with these scrawny muscles. I didn't think I was this weak as a teen, but compared to what I've grown to, well this just ain't what I'm used to.

"We woke him up and he became aggressive."

"Do you have to restrain him like that? Cas, do they have to restrain him like that?" Sam says. 

"It's okay, Baby. I'll take care of it." The Cas guy approaches the doctor and he looks like pretty tough shit—I don't even want to mess with him. I feel kind of dumb holding my busted up broom handle, especially against those sturdy, blue eyes. "Dr. Rhodes, may I have a word with our son?"

Their son? Oh no. No fucking way.

"Of course—"

"I'm going to have to ask you, to tell them to let him go," he says in a calm way that's the furthest thing from calm. More like barely restrained rage.

"I don't advise—"

"Now, Doctor. Please."

The doctor doesn't want to fuck with this guy either and nods toward the men holding me. Who the fuck is this Cas guy, anyway? God? Frankly, I'm a little scared of him too, but not going to let him know that.

I pull away from the dudes and glare at them. "Later, douche bags." I move to leave.

"That wasn't nice, Dean." It's the Cas guy. "Apologize." 

"Apologize? They're the dickbags." I don't like the look he's giving me, it's fucking terrifying. "Fine. Um, I'm sorry. There? Better?"

His nose wrinkles. "We'll work on it. How about you sit down?"

I know he's not really asking, but I'm kinda, a dickbag myself. "I'd rather go, I've got stuff to do." I do tone down my attitude a little with him looking at me like that—I feel like a little kid whose dad's caught him with his fingers in the cookie jar.

He's shaking his head. "I'm sorry Dean, we can't let you go off on your own. It isn't safe for you—you're—"

"I can stop this," I cut him off and gesture down my body. "Look, I know I look like a kid, but I'm a twenty-eight year old man. I've handled lots of stuff like this."

"I understand, but I think this time, you're in over your head. You've been injected with Modlenol; it's irreversible." 

He's so reasonable sounding that though I'm still not sitting down, I want to now. I heard them talking about this, I know it, but it's different hearing it from this oddly stoic man. It's hard not to just let him take over. "I know, I heard."

"You did?"

"While I was 'out,'" I say with air quotes. "I couldn't move, but I could hear what you guys were saying."

He sighs. "Look Dean, just come home with us, we'll sort everything out together, okay?"

No way in hell is that happening; I don't care how scary this dude is. "I'm not going with you, I'm going back to my car, gettin' in and hunting down the sonuva bitch that did this to me."

Cas looks over at the other guy, Sam, and lifts a finger, to stop him coming over. "Are you familiar with the laws on Moddlers, Dean?"

"Yeah, but surely they don't apply to me, I didn't ask for this."

"'Fraid so kiddo."

Yeah I know the laws, but _I_ don't agree they apply to me. I also know I'm not the first case of being spiked with Modlenol; that means being dosed with Modlenol, without consent, which is illegal. And by the way, I had no fucking idea I'd get spiked, totally blind sided—I was innocently hunting vampires, just a regular Saturday night. Who will hunt them if these two whack-a-doodles don't let me go? "This was a spike, doesn't that mean I go to family? I want to go with my dad."

"If your father were alive, we'd be more than happy to step aside, but we know he's dead Dean." He looks up and signals to the other guy; Sam joins us, Cas puts his arm around him.

"We'd like to be your parents now, Dean," Sam says. I can almost feel the fucking hopefulness I can see in his hazel eyes.

"We are your parents, legally," says Cas.

"What? Since when?"

"Just a few moments ago; we signed the papers."

Fuck. I'm already too late for that, not that it matters. It's not like there's some curse binding me to these two freakshows. "That doesn't mean shit to me. Step aside." I move to take a step, but when I see how furious that makes Cas I add, "please, sir."

"I would rather do this the easy way Dean, don't make me do it the hard way. We are responsible for you now and we cannot let you go off on your own. You may be fine now, but we have no idea at what rate your body will change, since we are not familiar with the potency of the Modlenol you were dosed with. You could be a toddler by dinner for all we know. So what do you say? Come with us?"

He lays down the law smoothly; he's done this many times before. Seriously, who is this guy? Really. Who the fuck is he?

I look to the Sam guy; he seems to be begging me with his eyes to just do as Cas says. That can go a few ways; I'm not sure why Sam looks so worried. In any case, I know when I'm in a corner and one I can't get out of. I feel weak as fuck, I won't make it past this many guys and he's right, I don't know when I'll change again, but I do know the Modlenol will knock me out when I do. I'm vulnerable and these two are offering me a safe haven. "Fine. I'll go with you two."

Sam smiles wide at Cas like Cas just bought him a pony. And I guess he kinda did.

That fucking pony is me.

~SDC~

We are surrounded by at least ten men in black and I don't mean the Tommy Lee Jones and the Will Smith kind. These are bodyguards. Is Cas the new President I didn’t hear about? I'm not exactly good at watching the 'normal-people' news, it wouldn't be unusual for that to fly under my radar. I am glad I didn't challenge him and now I know what he meant by 'the hard way.' These bad-ass looking mother fuckers would have had no problem handling me in my current state. I'd never have gotten away and my pride may have taken a hit.

We're led to a row of black SUV's, one for us, and the others for the men in black. If Cas isn't the president, then he's the Godfather. Jesus Christ. Did I just get adopted by a Mob Boss?

In any case, I am way outta my league and I still gotta figure out what the fuck I'm going to do. I look down at myself, still dressed in the weird pyjama looking things I wore at wherever it was they were keeping me; least they gave me real shoes. I feel like shit, like I'm going to pass out soon, and I'm on my way to Satan knows where with a man who probably is Satan and his well-kept lover.

Sam notices me. I'm between the two of them in one of the back seats, two men in black are up front, one of them driving. He chances putting a large, comforting hand on my forehead, and I let him, too tired to fight. Besides, there's something about the guy, I know he's on my side. Normally, I'd have that hand pinned behind his back before he could say, idiot-box, but I just don't have the strength to waste. I want to save what little I have in case I really need it.

The hand moves down my cheek feeling for warmth. "How you doing, sweetheart? You don't look so good. Cas, he doesn't look so good."

Is he going to defer to Cas for everything? 'Cause that's going to get annoying fast. Sam's, like, twice the size of Cas, hell I was closer to Sam's size, last time I wasn't on fucking Modlenol. I decide to cut in before Cas can speak. "I feel like ralphing."

Sam responds immediately and comes up with a little bucket that looks like a sand toy. Why do these two have sand toys in their bad ass SUV? "Here, sweetie. Use this if you have to."

He keeps calling me 'sweetheart' and 'sweetie' and I know damn well why. Suddenly I'm feeling a lot worse and I can't bring myself to tell him to go fuck himself. I take the bucket.

"Manners, Dean," Cas says from beside me.

_Seriously?_

"Cas. He's sick. Let him be." Maybe Sam's not such a pushover after all.

"Still, he's been quite rude; first with the doctors at the agency and now, can we let it continue?"

"I'm right, here." They're acting just like two new parents who aren't sure of the right course of action to take with their small child—except I'm not a small fucking child.

"Hush, Dean." That's Sam.

"Hey, I thought you were on my side?"

"I am Sweetheart. Here, why don't you lie on Daddy's shoulder and rest 'till we're home, hmmm?" As he says it, he's already pulling me toward him and my head's already comfortably snug before I can protest. Manipulative bastard. I feel far too shitty and this feels far too good. And the fingers that are now carding through my hair, mmmmhmmm…

"Not my, Daddy," I mumble, but my eyes are closed and I don't fight him more than that.

He chuckles. "Pass me that blanket there, would you, Cas?"

I feel something soft tucked around me me and I didn't realize I was shivering, 'till I feel its warmth settle over me. From that point, I fight to stay awake, and with my eyes closed, I even out my breathing so they think I'm sleeping and hope they'll talk to each other so I can glean more information about them.

Another hand, a new one, clamps down on my thigh. It's Cas's. His hand is different from Sam's, large, gentle one. It's got a different kind of strength, the solid kind. The 'I'm-not-going-to-let-anyone-fuck-with-you, kind. And though Cas has been stern and a bit cold with me, there's something warm about his hand now. It's protective.

"We'll be home soon, Cas," Sam says and It's the first time I've heard Sam assure Cas.

"I know, but I'm worried about him—they couldn't say how much, or what kind of Modlenol he's been dosed with. What if he…"

"He won't. I know it, I've got a good feeling, Cassy."

Cassy? Now I feel like vomiting from the sickly sweet syrup in Sam's voice. At the same time, something inside me clenches regretfully and I come to understand something: These two guys really care about me, which is fucking odd, 'cause how long ago had they met me? A handful of hours, tops? But they do. I can tell by the worried tremble in Cas's voice and the firm way Sam is pressing me into his side, like maybe if he holds on tight enough, he can keep me here with him and not let the 'bad Modlenol' get me. He's speaking reassuring words to Cas, but he's got his own doubts.

Am I really in that much danger?

Another shiver goes through me, despite the warmth of the blanket and the two men I'm sandwiched between. "Oooh, poor baby," Sam coos as he rubs my outside arm, trying to give me warmth.

I hear Cas slide the little window open, so he can speak to the men up front. "Can we get a little more heat back here?"

"Yes, sir."

I hear the heat come on, and it helps a little, but I still shiver. I'm fucking fevered.

"Should we go to the hospital, Cas?"

"No, Baby. They told us this would happen, there isn't much they would be able to do for him at the hospital. Not unless someone's got a cure for Modlenol we don't know about. Let's just get him home."

~SDC~

I fell asleep sometime on the way to Sam and Cas's house, without fucking wanting to, which speaks to how shitty I feel. I can go days without sleep if I need to. But as the truck pulls into the drive, I wake up and push away from Sam—oh God, I've drooled all over him.

"Did you have a nice snooze, sweetheart?"

I pull the blanket around me (which I now notice is pale blue with monkeys on it), but don't answer.

"Daddy, asked you a question, Dean." Bossy Cas is back, and I whip my head around to my left to glare at him.

"He's just waking up, Cas, aren't you Dean?" Sam defends me softly. I nod and pretend to look wounded, though if I'm honest, Cas has my number. I'm being a rude little shithead, and maybe I shouldn't be. This Sam guy is kind of all right and Cas too when he 's not being such a domineering dick. Maybe I shouldn't be such an asshole to them and in the very least, not to Sam. I'm not calling him Daddy though, he can fucking forget it.

I dip back to Sam's shoulder for protection from big bad Cas.

Cas sighs. "I'm screwed aren't I? He's already got you wrapped around his finger."

Sam hugs me tighter. "He sure does."

Good to know, I might need that in the near future.

"But don't talk like it's just me, Cassy. I know you, you're going to spoil this boy."

I doubt this Cas guy could spoil a surprise.

"I will not, Samuel. A boy needs discipline, I won't allow Dean to grow up into a hooligan."

I want to remind them that I'm still here and that I've already grown up, but already, I don't feel like courting Cas's wrath. I keep my mouth shut, and promise myself revenge by way of many sleepless nights, if they do manage to keep me. They won't, but the thought makes me smile inside.

Sam helps me out of the truck and now free of the tinted windows I see we've pulled up to a fucking mansion. My new 'parents' are loaded, which I was already figuring. Fancy SUVs? Bodyguards? It's not hard to put two and two together. 

I'm led inside with Cas on my left and Sam on my right; we're greeted by a man at the door—and dude, it's a fucking butler.

"Hello, sirs, is this the lad?" A butler that sounds like Liam Nesson, greets us.

"Yes, Shane. This is our Dean," Sam beams like the proud new parent he believes himself to be.

"Shake his hand and greet Shane properly, Dean," Cas says in a firm voice, making me want to punch him in the face. Hard.

But Shane seems harmless enough, and I'm standing here in weird pyjamas, wrapped in a monkey blanket. I decide it's best not to cause more of a scene than I already am and do as I've been instructed. "Nice to meet you, Shane."

"Good, boy Dean. Thank you," Cas says.

I blush at the praise Cas gives me, but at the same time I turn a glare on him so hard and wish my eyes could light him on fire. Recognizing I'm about to get myself in trouble 'Daddy-Sam' steps in to save the day. "Excuse me Shane, I have a little one to get into bed—he's not well. Cas, could you arrange for some broth and tea to be brought up to us?"

Cas and I both know that's to get him out of the way for a few minutes, to let me calm down from the homicidal rage that's building at his constant pestering of me. I know he thinks I'm his kid, but I'm not. I don't care what papers he's signed.

"But, Baby, don't you need my help?"

"Yes. I need you to help me get Dean fed, now hop to it."

These two have a very interesting relationship.

Happy to be away from big bad Cas, I let Sam lead me upstairs, and to a large bathroom, the tub is ginormous. "I'm going to run a bath for you. It'll feel nice, then straight to bed. Here, sit. You look about ready to fall over."

I do because he's right. I'm near falling over. I sit on the closed toilet lid and can see myself in the mirror across the way. I barely recognize my own face. I do look like a kid. My face is gaunt like it was in my teens and my hair seems to have grown too much in the few days it's been since I got shot up with Modlenol and flops around all over the place; God this shit is weird. I'm thinner than I was, but still have a nice beefy collection of muscles—after all, it wasn't like I didn't keep fit when I was nineteen. I put a hand to my chin and move it from side to side, so I can witness myself, touching myself, you know, to make sure what's in the mirror ain't an illusion. I've seen some pretty weird shit; wouldn't surprise me if these guys had a magic mirror—they're sure as hell rich enough to buy one.

I cut outta my daze when I feel Sam taking off the shoes that are still on my feet, I bend to help him, 'cause honestly? I'm looking forward to soaking in that luscious looking tub. Baths are a secret fetish of mine. And no I don’t mind getting naked in front of this dude, I've been in a locker room enough times—lots of dudes have seen me naked, what's one more?

"No, no Pumpkin Butter, let Daddy do it. Just relax."

 _Pumpkin Butter?_ Do I even want to know? No. No I don't. I let my head fall back against the wall behind the toilet, because I'm seriously either going to ralph, or pass out, I'm not sure which sensation is strongest, and let the man who just referred to me as 'Pumpkin Butter' undress me. He's careful and reverent as he slips each shoe and sock off and says, "arms up," before he relinquishes my shirt. Then it's, "okay, stand up Sugarbug," (can't he just call me Dean?) and he's removing my pants and boxers.

There's not a thing sexual about it I note, just a man helping another man (whom he calls Sugarbug and Pumpkin Butter) into the bath. But you know what? Worth every ounce of embarrassment. This bath fucking rocks. It's the exact right temperature and soothes muscles I didn't know were aching. There are bubbles, and the smell of lavender and thankfully no kid toys, which I half expected.

"Feels good, huh?"

"Mmmmhmmm… yep," I say, my eyes closed; starting to fall back to sleep.

"Oh no you don't, not in the bath Mister. Let's get you washed quick then you can sleep all you want."

Then he begins to wash me.

Okay, up until this point, none of the other stuff he's done has really bothered me. Maybe it would have bothered someone else, but I don't give a fuck. But wash me? That's a bit outta my comfort zone. With my eyes still closed I say, "I can wash myself dude." It's half-hearted at best.

"Yeah, but are you going to?"

He may have a point. I don't feel like moving. Would him washing me really be that weird? Well, you know what they say: Try everything once and if you like it, do it again. I can just pretend that Sam is a hot nurse; being washed by a hot nurse would be awesome.

"Nuh uh."

"Would you just let me help you, Dean?" he pleads.

"Yeah, okay, but watch the junk—no funny business."

Sam laughs. "No funny business. I'm your parent Dean. I know this is all a lot to take in, but once you realize that, you'll know that we have no wish to harm you, or molest you."

I believe him.

So I lay back, half on the edge of asleep and awake, the Modlenol quickly threatening to take me under again, and I let him run water through my hair, lather it up and rinse it out. He washes me with a cloth from head to toe—careful of my junk as instructed—and the whole time I can't complain if I wanted to; feels too damn good.

Cas returns. "How is he?"

"Not good, Cas. Help me get him out, dried and into bed?"

That's the last I hear, before I'm out cold.

~SDC~

I wake up who knows how much later after that, in pyjamas that are at least two sizes, too big, or wait a tick, I have a bad fucking feeling they had been the 'right' size when I fell asleep, but now I'm the fucking 'wrong' size. I've shrunk again, my body de-aging, my mind... well I don't feel like my mind has. I hear something crinkle underneath me, but I don't think to check what it is, because I realize I feel a zillion times better, at least for now. I don't know that the Modlenol is out of my system, yet.

Sam and Cas are both here. "Oh sweetheart look at you. How do you feel?" Sam asks.

"Good," I say smiling realizing just how true that is. "Great even. Well enough to catch whoever did this to me." I move to hop out of the bed.

"Whoa there, Tiger," Cas says standing up and I freeze. He looks a whole lot bigger to me than he did when I passed out. How long have I been out? How small am I?

"How long… What age do I look now?"

"About thirteen? What'd'ya think Cas?"

"I'd say that's a correct assessment, though it's hard to tell for sure."

"Shit. I've already wasted enough time. I have to get out of here before I'm even smaller than this and can't do anything."

"You aren't going anywhere, young man."

I ignore his young man for now, we can fight about that another time. "So what I'm your prisoner?"

"Never. You're our child," Sam and Cas say together. They turn to each other and give a goofy smile.

"You're our child, sweetheart," Sam repeats with his never ending endearments. "We're going to take good care of you, promise."

"But the Modlenol, it's shrinking me, I've got to stop it from—"

"You can't Dean and you don't have to do anything other than be our child. The sooner you realize that, the easier this will be for you."

"No. You don't understand, I can stop this, I'm—" Okay, it's truth time. Whether they believe me or not, the time's come for me to tell them, because the way I am now, I might need their help. And I'm starting to come to terms with what Cas said before: Who knows when this fucked up brand of Modlenol will take me under again? I need back up.

"I'm a Hunter," I tell them.

"A Hunter?" Cas says.

"Yeah. You know? Saving people, hunting things? That's what I do." I take the off chance that these two might know. Rich people tend to know things, especially the kind of people like I'm reading Cas to be.

"Wait, isn't that what Bob calls himself?" Sam says to Cas. Cas nods.

"A hunter named Bob? Are you talking about Bobby Singer?" Oh God. My voice just fucking cracked. I'm going through puberty again and I sound like a pip-squeak.

"That's the one. You know Bob?" Cas asks.

"Yeah. He's a friend of my dad's. Was a friend of my dad's."

"Right. We're sorry about your father, Dean," Cas says.

Aaaannd I'm crying. I can't fucking believe I'm crying—there's a goddamned tear coming outta my eye. Stupid kid hormones. I didn't even cry about my dad when died. Not because I wasn't sad, was plenty sad; just don't cry about things.

"Oh, sweetheart." Sam's beside me in a blink. I nudge him away.

"I'm fine."

He gives me a stern look, but gives me my space. Maybe it's wise not to push 'Daddy' either. "Look, I'm sorry, it's just, this is frustrating. There's a douche bag out there turning adults into Moddlers without consent and a nest of vampires in the city somewhere. I was tracking them before all this mess."

"Vampires? Dean, why didn't you just say so? I'll contact Bob Singer right away—if we're right and he's a hunter like you, couldn't he take care of the vampires?" That's Cas.

"You believe me?"

Sam nods. "We had trouble with a Tulpa a while back. Bobby helped us out."

"Bobby is a hunter, he'll be able to gank the Vamps." I'll be useless against a whole nest like this. I mean, maybe I could take one or two at thirteen, but it's better to let Bobby handle it, or give the job to another hunter. And even if I wasn't stuck here, with these two, with the Modlenol in my system, that seriously puts a damper on my hunting days.

"Okay. I'll call him personally Dean, but you've got to forget about going after the person who did this to you; it's not going to change anything. For the record, I do have my people on it. We'll find the culprit. I'll even let you get a few swings in on the person when we do," he says with a wink.

Okay, him saying that is kind of cool. "Your people? I have been adopted by the Mafia, haven't I?"

Ice-cold Cas actually laughs at that one. "No Dean. We're not in the Mafia, but we own a company that makes firearms, so I have enough money to have 'people.' You ever heard of the name Winchester?"

Have I? Um, of course I fucking have. I nod.

"Well, you are one now, Dean. Dean Winchester."


	3. Dean Winchester

"You're the Winchesters?"

"We are," Sam confirms, "and so are you."

I'm dumbfounded. I've read everything there is to know about those guns, but I couldn't give a fuck about the gossip about their owners and haven't read too much on them. I know they try to stay out of the limelight as best they can. But now that I know who they are, their full names click. "You're Castiel Winchester, which means you're Samuel Colt. Your family's dealt in firearms a long time too."

He nods. "Formly a Colt, yes. I changed my name to Winchester when I married Cas. I am responsible for the family business though, or at least I was. Cassy runs it now and I have helped him from time to time. I prefer to run our home. And now, I'll be here to look after you once you've finished modifying."

"So you don’t think the Modlenol's finished yet?"

"No, Sugarbug. But we do think we know how long you've got until the next modification happens based on before. We have no idea how much you'll modify, since there doesn't seem to be much rhyme or reason to that. It was nine years the first time, this time it's only been fourish."

"Son of a Bitch."

"Dean Winchester, that's enough cussing," Sam scolds, surprising me. So far it's only been Cas on my case.

It's a bit weird being called Dean Winchester. "I'm not a little kid."

"You are, whether you've accepted it yet, or not. And I've got a bar of soap with your name on it, if you don't obey me young man."

I heat red. Man this dude can scold. Not only that, the Modlenol is messing with my brain; I'm starting to believe Cas and Sam are my parents on a level I don't want to admit to, because man that did feel like being scolded by a Dad. The kid in me already doesn't want Sam to be mad at me.

"Sorry." I look down at my hands. "But… my car and my…" I was going to say life, but I didn't have much of a life beyond hunting. I can feel another stupid, single tear down my cheek. This time I let Sam pull me to him.

"It's going to be okay, Sweetheart. Papa and I will take care of everything."

Papa? Oh, right. Cas. "I'm sure I can find a solution to this. Some spell, or ritual, some magic amulet?"

Sam and Cas exchange a look like they think I'm nuts, but I'm surprised when Cas says, "When I call Bob, I'll ask him. I'll even let you call him with me. Would you like that, son?"

I smile for the first time since this whole mess. "Thanks, Cas."

"Papa," he corrects.

"Huh?"

"Papa, or Father if you prefer while you are this age, but not Cas. I'm your father and you will address me as such. Sam is Daddy."

I notice I don't get an option for Sam's moniker, but I think I know why. Between the kinds of strange nicknames he's been calling me and a bit of the accent I'm detecting, I'm pretty sure Sam Colt grew up in the South and that's what kids called their dad: Daddy. I know Colt originated in Connecticut, but hey, people move around right?

I scowl at him, but I don't dare say anything. I didn't even call my dad anything other than 'sir' most of the time. I rarely uttered the phrase 'Dad' since my dad expected a certain standard of respect. With the life we lived, I was more his solider than his son. I needed to follow orders without question, else it meant one or both of us dead.

I pull back to look at Sam for help. "Oh no you don't. I'm with your father on this one. It will help get you into the mindset faster. The social worker said it would be good for you to do so; help you transition."

"I mean it Dean, it's also a matter of respect, which I think you're sorely lacking—for yourself and others."

"You don't know me."

"I know enough, but that attitude is just what I'm talking about."

"What if I don't want to get into the mindset, huh? Don't I get any say? Who cares what the dumb social worker said." Great. I already sound like a fucking teenager.

"Sorry, Kiddo. Not on this one. We choose and we're going to do what's best for you. Some things will be open for discussion, but not this one."

In other words: This discussion is fucking closed. Yeah, yeah. Heard that one enough times in my life. Without realizing it, I've snuggled closer to Sam—I can call'em what I want in my head—it feels like he's my protection from Cas even if I know he agrees with Cas. He's rubbing my back; it's something. "How about you come downstairs with Daddy and get something to eat. You slept for fourteen hours, didn't even get to eat the broth Papa got for you." His voice is a coo and slightly enthusiastic, trying to sell me on the idea.

 _Right. I may look like a kid, but I ain't one pal._ Fortunately for him, I am hungry. Fucking hungry, to be exact. "Maybe there's some pie for me?"

"You like, pie? Did you hear that Papa? Our Dean likes pie."

Yeah, yeah, don't have a fit over it. No I don't say that out loud. But even Cas is smiling. "We've got a great baker on the premise and your Daddy bakes too—I'm sure we've got lots of pie. Let's go get you some, Kiddo."

I think at the moment they'll give me anything I want, to distract me from everything else—there's some perks to this kid thing. The mood of the whole room has shifted from the gloom over Modlenol spikers and my whole life changing, to happiness over pie. Things aren't looking so bad until I hear that crinkle again while I move, but this time I feel something.

"What. Am. I," _fucking,_ "wearing." Least I can still swear in my head. They exchange a 'should we tell him look' followed by a 'I think we have to look.'

"Don't freak out Pumpkin Butter—"

"Don't you Pumpkin Butter me. Am I wearing a freaking diaper?"

"Not exactly," Sam starts.

"Yes, or no?"

"It's a kind of an Adult Pull-up—"

"I'm not wearing a Pull-up… Oh God, tell me I'm not wearing a Pull-up."

"Can we explain before you freak out?" Cas asks.

Too fucking late for that, but I purse my lips and nod.

"In case you missed, you slept for fourteen hours. When we checked you during the night you… you'd peed the bed."

How fucking mortifying, I can feel the heat in my face, I hide in Sam's torso and he begins stroking my hair in earnest. "We didn’t know how much longer you'd sleep, Sugarbug. We only put it on just as a precaution. You can take it off now, okay?"

I nod into him, embarrassed beyond anything that's happened on this acid trip so far. I can't look up at him—they'd had to change me all wet with urine and put me into a diaper. Worse, as I'm moving, I'm pretty sure it's wet again. I don't want to look at it.

After at least ten minutes of me clinging to him, not crying, but close to, he says quiet in my ear, "You want Daddy to help you, bug?"

Do I? You know, the weird thing is, I do. It's the source of my mortification, but having him help me sounds better than dealing with it myself. I know Modlenol seriously affects hormones—I decide to blame that otherwise, no, I wouldn't want a grown man helping me change out of my pull-up. I nod into him again.

"I'll go hunt Dean down some pie," Cas says and I'm relieved. He probably helped Sam—oh God—change me last night, but illogically, I feel better with it just being Sam helping me.

When he's gone, Sam pries me away from him and I look up at him with sad lost eyes. I know how to handle a ghost hunt, I'd do well in a Zombie apocalypse, but this; I've got nothing.

Sam knows what to do. He pulls me up and the pyjamas I'm wearing seem larger than they did at first, they're drowning me. "Oh, Dean," he says, which I'm learning, he doesn't call me often, preferring one of his whacked up nicknames. "It's nothing to fuss over. We're your daddies, we don't care if we have to change you—remember that," he says a bit cryptically and begins undressing me. "Arms, up."

I lift and think on what he's said. "You think I'm going to get smaller than this, don't you? You think I'll regress to an age I'll need diapers."

"We're not sure, Dean. Anything's possible."

"What's with all the Deans?" Him calling me Dean so far has meant 'serious,' does he think I might die?

"That's your name," he says smiling. "Wait, I know, you like being my Pumpkin Butter, don't you?"

"I do not," I say, but he doesn't believe me.

The pyjama pants are practically falling off me anyway, so he slips them off easily and now I'm left in just the diaper-pull-up thingy, wrapping my arms around my torso for warmth. He sees by the unsightly bulge that it's wet and for a second, he's not sure what to do.

"I think maybe a quick shower. What do you say sweetheart? You up for that?" If the alternative is him cleaning me up like a baby then yes, I'm up for a shower. I nod. He helps me strip off the wet, soggy thing and wraps me in a towel. "Follow me."

We're in the same bathroom as before, but this time he leads me across the room to where the separate shower is, runs it and gestures for me to hop in. He doesn't leave though, and I know it's not a creepy 'he wants to watch me shower' thing. He's being a Hover Mother, probably worried I'll fall and crack my head or something—why did I have to get first time parents? They're going to suffocate me with affection aren't they?

_It's better than some things._

"I'm okay, on my own," I tell him careful to avoid calling him by any moniker. Maybe I'll just call them 'Hey You One' and 'Hey You Two.'

"I don't know. Are you sure? You're not feeling dizzy, or tired?"

"I'm fine, Mama," I say feeling good enough to be sassy—nothing can beat the feeling of the hot shower washing away all my cares (except maybe a bath) at the moment. Besides, he deserved it; he put me in a diaper.

"My bar of soap can be used for sass too, Dean Winchester," he warns. "Call me when you're finished."

When I'm alone, it's quieter than it's ever been for me. Much as I don't want any of this I'm feeling feelings, good feelings, when I'm around the Winchesters. I've never had this—people watching out for me, I'm always looking out for people.

When I get out, I'm dripping of course, but there's a towel on the floor by the shower and one over the side of the tub, which is across the bathroom floor. Sam said to call him, but I can dry myself off. I walk across the room, dripping water as I go, and scoop up the towel wrapping my shivering body in it. It's white and fluffy and, _wow!_

I'm feeling refreshed and sorta over the whole 'diaper, pull-up' debacle. I think I can leave it behind, so long as it was a one-time deal; hopefully I won't modify past thirteen, though my 'parents' seem doubtful. I open the door and Sam is out there waiting, he's looking at me funny, then he's looking past me to the bathroom. "Dean Winchester, did you drip water all over Daddy's floor?"

I cower. Crap. There's that 'Dean Winchester' again, 'cept it's the third time; isn't it three strikes and you're out, or something like that? Good. Maybe he's annoyed enough, he'll realize I'm not a child, nor am I the child for them and in the least they'll help me reverse this process before I'm too young to do anything myself.

"Yes?"

"What were you supposed to do when you were done?"

"Call for you?"

"Get, Daddy."

Double crap, he looks very unimpressed. I know what my dad would have done if I'd seriously annoyed him. My dad never beat me, whooped my ass plenty though and Sam sorta has that look in his eyes. I feel bad, but not bad enough. It's a good thing, I'm good at getting outta trouble. "I'm, sorry. I can clean it up."

I turn back, but he stops me. "It's okay, sweetheart. We all make mistakes, just listen to Daddy next time okay?"

I nod like crazy, just wanting him to forgive me; is it always going to feel like this? I realize that I'm getting out of trouble, which never happened with my dad—great!

"You think you can find your way back to your room?"

"Yes, sir." Fuck. Force of habit.

It makes him smile though, so I give myself points. "Okay. Go'on. I'll be right there. On second thought, wait—" I freeze on the spot. He kneels down before me and begins using my towel to sop up any of the wetness I missed—which is my whole body. I've never had to care much about getting floors wet, or dirty, I usually air dry, unless I'm in a hurry, only using a towel to wrap around my waist while I eat, or something like that. Sam dries me completely, including my hair, so I won’t continue to trail water everywhere. "All set, pumpkin."

~SDC~

When Sam returns, I'm still staring at what he wants me to wear. "Batman underwear, really dude?"

He laughs. "We didn't know where you'd end up age-wise, but we had Shane by everything in the largest size for boys, I think they'll fit fine."

"Boys? At least let me keep my dignity."

"C'mon, it will help you get into the mindset. Besides, you were a hunter, isn't that kind of like Batman?" He's crouched before me and has the stupid Batman underwear held open for me. "Step in, please."

I do hanging onto his neck. "I told you, I don't need to be in the mindset, because I've still got my twenty-eight year old brain."

"You think so, do you?" he says conversationally moving onto my pants, thankfully they're jeans. I nod angrily. "You may have your memories, and some of that adult twinkle in your eye, but you've changed quite a bit even just from the last time you were awake. You're far more like a child. Papa and I both see it."

"You two hardly know me," I say, but I already know what I'm going to get in reply, he doesn't disappoint.

"We know enough. You're going to continue to regress mentally, at least some. You know how Modlenol works." He puts a white cotton shirt over my head and a short sleeved checkered shirt over that. I pout the whole time. "Turn that frown, upside down. Let's go have pie, okay?"

"Okay," I huff. Not even pie's going to cheer me up. This sucks.

~SDC~

Turns out I'm a little wrong. Pie does improve my mood significantly; paired with the knowledge that Cas is going to let me call Bobby after. Things are looking up again for old Dean. And I have an idea. Bobby's always been like an Uncle to me, I'm sure he'll let me come live with him. I bet the Moddler adoption place would have called him if they'd known about him. Problem is, we aren’t blood related, they most likely checked for blood relatives only, then worked on getting me adopted when that search came up empty.

Right now though, I'm elbow deep in cherry pie and don't care about much else.

"Careful, sweetie. Don't get your clothes all messy. Maybe you need a bib?"

I look up long enough to give him a scowl for that, because no I don't need a bib thanks. I go back to eating my pie. Sam laughs. "Okay, no bib. Just slow down—the pie's not going anywhere and you can have as much as you want. There's still seven other kinds."

"Seven?"

"Yep, seven," Cas agrees.

"Don't get too used to eating eight different kinds of pie all the time though, this is a one time deal," Sam winks at me. "But we'll always keep lots of pie around for you, promise."

My chest squeezes a bit. Not for me, but for them—they're probably going to miss me, or some stupid shit like that, when I'm gone to live with 'Uncle Bobby.'

Aren't they surprised when they find out I can eat a piece from each and I would keep going, but I get the feeling they're starting to freak out a bit. They clearly don't want to renege on their 'you can have as much as you want' promise, but are at war inside with the whole 'our new baby's going to have a tummy ache from pie' debacle. Please. I don't get sick from a little pie. I hope they'll let me take some to Bobby's.

They both sigh relief when I decline a ninth piece and look to feel somewhat impressed that I could pack pie away like that. Cas stopped after two and Sam after four. Lightweights. Then Cas announces he's taking me to call Bobby, while Sam clears away the plates. "Be a good boy for Papa, Pumpkin Butter," Sam tells me before we leave. I wrinkle my nose at him, but Cas looks at me with those dark eyes saying they want me to _'answer Daddy.'_ He's really going to harp on this whole 'being rude' and 'respect' thing isn’t he?

"I will, Mama," I promise Sam giving a sweet, impish smile, one that makes him smile and forgive my sassiness.

Cas surprises me by laughing loudly. "Even our boy's picked up on your Mother Henning already, Baby."

"Enough you two. Go make your call, so we can watch movies. I'll make popcorn—if Dean has any room left that is."

I do, but I don't say so and I'm not prepared for the warm feelings I get at the thought of being cozy with popcorn and movie. Fuck. I've been here too long already, I've got to convince Bobby to come get me.

~SDC~

Cas insists he talk to Bobby first, without me, and well, I don't have much choice on the matter, since apparently 'he's the Papa,' so I sat outside his office and waited. He took a really fucking long time, but finally let me in.

"Hey ya Idgit," is the greeting I get. It's a skype call, to my surprise; I didn't know Bobby did skype, he usually liked to keep a low profile, but I guess for Castiel Winchester…

"Got yourself turned into a kid, did'ya?"

"Not my fault. I was tracking vamps until some Ass—" Cas clears his throat, "some d-bag spiked me."

"Yeah, so Cas told me. I'll have someone on the vamps right after this call, so don’t worry about them—you shouldn't go after them like… that."

"Like what? Bobby, I've been hunting with Dad since I was nine, you know that."

"I know that kid, but haven't you ever wanted to see what it was like to live a 'normal' life? You got a chance for that now and most kids don't go tracking evil. I think you should take this chance Dean."

"If I were there, I'd Holy Water you, Bobby. Are you possessed? Two freakshows are keeping me prisoner and treating me like I'm a little kid. I need rescuing, not a bro moment on how I could use a second childhood—my childhood was great! I love hunting." I can't see Cas behind me, but I know he's probably hurt by what I've said. I already feel bad.

"Dean, I… thing is, Cas is pretty sure you might regress further and I won't be able to hunt with a little kid at my ankles."

"See? Even you don't want to give up hunting."

"I'm in it now, kid. This is it for me. You're young; it doesn't have to be it for you. But… ahhh… is it that bad? They not treating you right? If that's the case, hunting be damned, I'll come get ya."

It's on the tip of my tongue to tell Bobby they're horrible and say anything I can think up so Bobby'll come get me, but I can't help looking back at Cas, first.

The happy man from earlier, laughing and eating pie is gone, he's heartbroken, with just a shell of him there. I can tell he's already been through ways of setting up his men so Bobby can't get me, then coming to the realization that Bobby's just too good and if he wants to come get me, there'd be no stopping him. He's already picturing life with me gone, and oh God, what he'd have to tell my—Sam. What he'd have to tell Sam. I turn back to Bobby who's waiting for my answer, take a deep breath and begin to speak, knowing the words I'm saying will only break Cas's heart further.

"No. They don't treat me bad at all. They treat me like it's the freaking fourth of July, with pie and baths and—" I'm not going to say snuggles but I think it, "niceness. But Bobby I don't care, I want to come live with you. I don't want new daddies."

There. I said it. Now Cas will hate me and that's fine; easier for him to let me go.

"Aw, kid, you're making this hard, but if they're good to ya, I gotta leave you there. I really can't have a little boy around here."

"I'll be good, Bobby. So, so good. I promise. You won't even know I'm there."

He laughs. "Look at ya. It's like you're a kid already, even the way you talk has changed."

_Has it?_

"Sorry, I gotta say no, but I will stop by soon as I can."

I cross my arms and I want to stomp my foot, but I still have enough sense to stop myself, that's what kids do and I'm not a kid.

"Everything's going to be all right Dean. Besides, they've already gone and adopted ya—Cas over there would raise a Hell on me I don't think even I can fight. I think you're stuck Dean Winchester, might as well enjoy."

Crap. Even Bobby's calling me that now. "Thanks for nothing."

"It'll be good, kid. Call me every once in awhile, got it?"

"Yeah. But Bobby, there's gotta be some way to reverse this… Change me back… Make me grow up. A spell? A ritual? Some kind of object?"

His face doesn't look promising. "None I know of, kid, but I promise I'll look into, okay?"

"Yeah, yeah." I try not to be pissed, but I am.

"Right. I gotta go figure on how I'm going to take care of that nest. You take care."

I touch the screen to end the application, slowly becoming aware that I've said a bunch of stuff with Cas in the room that is both hurtful and mean. I'm in big trouble and somehow, I just know he's the kind of guy who deals in spankings. I turn around to face my executioner.

Cas's face is unreadable, but he's got tears in his eyes. Crap. I've made him cry. I feel like shit. "Thank you, Dean."

_Wait. Huh?_

"You could have told Bobby that we were molesting you, or something else also horrible, but you didn't and even though I'm a bit hurt that you think those things of us, I understand why you'd rather live with Bobby."

"Y-You do?"

"Of course. You don't really know us yet. I think you can read people really well, doing what you did for so long, so I think you know we won't harm you and that we really do have your best interests in mind, but we still aren't Bobby. You grew up with him."

I nod. "That's it, really. You two have been good to me. Can you forgive me, sir?"

"It's already forgotten. And while sometimes, yes, it will be advisable for you to call me, sir, I told you what you are to call me in a more casual instance."

My cheeks heat and I look at my feet. Man, it's hard to look at the guy when he's got his robostare going.

"I'll give you a pass on that one for tonight, but Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"Let's keep this between you and I. Daddy would forgive you too, but it would kill him. He's already so fond of you, as am I. I've never seen Sam so happy and he's already a pretty happy guy."

Thank Christ. If he didn't say it, I was going to. I don't want Sam to know what I said to Bobby. "Yeah. No problems there."

"All right then, come here. Let's hug it out."

"Hug it out? If we're going to do this, could we turn down the sap meter just a little?"

He opens his arms wide, too wide. "Come. Come give Papa a hug, Papa's need hugs too."

"No way," I say and try to duck past him, but he catches me smoothly and pulls me into him tight.

"I'm willing to bribe you—one hug for something I think you'll like, and when we go in the living room, you've got to give Sam one too."

I don't miss that, that's two fucking hugs, but I'm curious about the bribe. "More pie?" I hope.

"I think you've got enough pie in there," he says poking my belly. "And I think Daddy will say no to that anyway. You do remember what your new last name is, don't you?"

"Winchester."

"That's right. I bet Dean Winchester likes fire arms. You give me a hug and Daddy a hug, and I'll take you out to our private range tomorrow. Sound good?"

"You'd do that?"

"Yep. Winchester family tradition. No son of mine will grow up not knowing how to use a firearm."

He's right. I fucking love guns. I squeeze him hard.

"That's a good hug, I'm going to want more of those," he says.

Well then I'm going to need more bribes, I don't say. He keeps his arm around me as we walk toward the living room and I get a bit nervous which is fucking stupid. How many hunts have I been on for things that go bump in the night and I'm afraid of giving out one little hug? I rarely hugged my dad, I have no idea how to initiate a fucking hug. What do I do? Walk up and ask him? Hold my arms out awkwardly? Fuck. I'm screwed, this is going to go so bad. But when I get to the living room, Sam's already there, happy as fuck to see me and holds his arms open for me.

I'm so relieved I don't have to bumble through initiating a hug, I run to him and throw my arms around him. I don't want it to, but the hug feels so damn good, before I know it, I'm fucking snuggled into the dude, which keeps fucking happening. He kisses my forehead and not seeing any reason to leave the coziness of his torso, I hide my head there; it's too goddamn embarrassing to come out now. I think I'll hide here forever thanks.

"How was your call to Bobby, Dean Bean?"

Dean Bean? "Was, fine." Fuck. I feel like shit. I hope Cas doesn't go back on our dark negotiation. "I-I'm staying here, with you guys."

"'Course you are. Why wouldn't you be?"

Crap. I'm the one not keeping my cool. I snuggle into him further, deciding that not only is it a good place to hide, but it will distract him. Thankfully, Cas comes in, to save the day, I feel his hand card through my hair. "Bobby wanted him, if we weren't treating him well, but Dean assured him that we are and that he's well taken care of. Didn't you, Dean?"

I nod into Sam and hate what I said about them. I'm a fucking dick.

"I see what's going on," Sam says.

Fuck, he does?

"You thought Bobby was going to take you away from us and it upset you. You complain, but I know the truth. Heck, I think you might not know the truth yet either, but sweetheart, you like us, at least enough you don't want to leave."

"Do not," I say, squeezing him tighter. I'm not fucking letting him go for anything and I've no rational reason why.

"Sure, Dean," Sam says.

Cas flicks out the light and turns on the movie, and I peek out after a few solid minutes of, oh God, cuddling the man who's apparently my new daddy. I'm still not quite buying in, but I am realizing my options are limited at this point. I look up to Sam, who's still holding me close, but is focused on the movie. Cas has wedged himself in behind Sam and has his arm around him, also enjoying the movie. I think about finally moving away, because that would be the fucking adult thing to do and I am, still a fucking adult that is, but then Sam looks down at me with that obnoxiously happy smile and I know it's because he's enjoying this a ridiculous amount. Not even I'm a big enough asshole to tarnish that smile. Instead I sigh, rest my head back on his chest and fall asleep with both of them watching over me.


	4. Life at the Winchester's

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean decides to test the boundaries of his new parents because, well, it's Dean.

"I think it's somebody's bedtime."

I'm not stupid. By someone, he means me, but I don't want to go to bed. Much as they keep insisting I'm a kid, I'm not. It's been two days now, with no modifying. I'm hopeful, but Dad—Sam, (damn them, they call themselves by those monikers so damn much they've almost got me doing it in my head) thinks I'm about to get sick any day, which means he keeps a closer eye on me than he already does. I'm certain it's not happening. I've never felt so good. I'm pretty sure that crap is out of my system.

"Do I really need a bedtime? I'm twenty-eight years old." 

"Come again, Mister?" Sam says. 

I'm going to salt that demon social worker next time I see her. She gave Cas and Sam helpful advice on how to help me 'transition' to life as a moddler and in addition to me calling them Papa and Daddy, I'm supposed to recognize my current age and not the one I 'had' been. Being first time parents to a Moddler, they follow all advice to the letter, terrified they'll make a mistake and ruin me for life. 

I decide to placate him. "Fine, I'm thirteen. The last time I was thirteen, I'd be leaving for a B and E about now." B and E's were best done in the dark. 

"The last time you were thirteen, we weren't your parents and if either one of us catches wind of you pulling a B and E, we'll make sure you don't sit for a week, is that understood?" Cas says.

"It was a joke."

Neither 'parent' looks impressed by my 'joke.' Maybe they're the tired ones in need of sleep. It's probably best I don't say so.

"Upstairs. Teeth. Let's go," Sam says. 

I think I pissed Sam off. Cas gets over my antics quickly and cracks a smile. "I'll be in to say good night, my little felon." 

Sam sends invisible daggers at him. I wisely roll off the couch and not too mulishly, make my way toward the stairs. It's been a pretty kick ass couple of days. Cas took me shooting as promised, Sam baked me some of his own secret family recipe pies. The three of us hung out a lot and they're actually not a bad couple of dudes once you get to know them, but they're so sappily sweet—that I was right about.

I've learned that in the house and with household type stuff, Sam is the boss, but outside, Cas takes charge. It's a dynamic that they agreed upon a long time ago; it makes them both happy. 

Cas stayed home from work these past few days, since they were worried about me. Pffft. They don't need to worry so much about me, but they do, every second. And Sam likes to do everything for me, like a Mother would. I don't really need him to, but I let him, more for his benefit. Cas is a protector rather than a doter. He sits back and lets Sam do his thing with me then takes me out to do fun, but heavily supervised, activities.

We haven't done much other than that. They're waiting for a change to happen before they 'put me in school,' a change they are convinced could happen at anytime, so they haven't planned much else. If only I could convince them I'm fine.

Sam is right behind me as I make my way to the bathroom I've already come to think of as mine. Cas and Sam don't seem to use it much. I begin to brush my teeth; Sam supervises. "You lived such a hard life before this, didn't you bug?"

I spit out the mouthful of toothpaste I have and answer with a shrug. "Depends."

"Is that… Do you miss it?" 

I know what I say next could make or break him. Even though I haven't been here long, the love this man has for me practically bleeds off him and I don't know why he does, just that he does. "Sometimes. But this is cool too." It's very teenage and also a very Dean response. He smiles and ruffles my hair.

I still let him undress me and put my pyjamas on because I can tell he likes to do it. If it makes him happy, it's the least I can do for him taking me in—I've never slept so comfortably. And speaking of sleeping… The night after the one I'd woken up modified a teen, Sam thought I should wear that God awful diaper-thing to bed again 'just in case' and I adamantly refused. We'd got into a full on fight about it. Cas had to step in and assuage Sam saying he could check on me in the night as many times as he needed to and that if I peed the bed, they'd just change it. It was a mortifying conversation to say the least, mostly because (and I loathe to admit this) I'm thirteen. I felt very thirteen during that conversation, I realized. Twenty-eight year old me wouldn't have liked it, but not much embarrassed twenty-eight-year-old Dean to that extent. 

I couldn't believe Cas stuck up for me, since he's been pretty strict. After thirty long minutes, tears and a compromise that if I peed the bed that night, I'd wear the diaper-thing to bed after that, he let it go. Thankfully, there was no more bed wetting to speak of. 

When I'm in my pyjamas, he opens the covers for me to slip inside and I get in. "You know, I'm pretty sure that junk is out of my system. Couldn't we renegotiate a later bedtime? This is insanely early, even for a thirteen year old." 

"I don't think so, Dean. You're about the only thirteen-year-old on the planet I care about—what other thirteen-year-olds do is not my responsibility. Your eyes have been drooping the past hour. Feel lucky I didn't put you to bed then." 

"They have not. I'm not even tired. Can I read or something?" If I'm asking to read, I'm desperate. It's my last ditch effort to have a bedtime like an adult; I can tell by Sam's expression he's wondering how long it will go on before I accept where I'm at. I'm a stubborn ass and I know it, he's not having any of it. 

He brings his face close to mine and kisses my forehead—both him and Cas are affectionate people to the nth power of a billion, something I'm not used to, but don't mind so much. "No, Pumpkin butter. Please go to sleep. Daddy worries about you." 

I huff. "All right." 

Cas comes in. "What's he trying to weasel his way out of now?" 

"Bedtime," Sam answers. 

"Well, it's too early, for a thirteen-year old," I whine like a thirteen-year-old. 

"Every thirteen-year-old is different, Dean. We do what's best for ours," Cas says which is almost identical to what Sam said, so I know they are united on this and I have no hope. 

I just sigh as he leans in to kiss my forehead too. "Goodnight, Dean."

"Night."

~SDC~

I try to sleep. I really do, but it was only ten o'clock when my well meaning 'parents' tucked me in and I'm still not tired after an hour of tossing and turning. Also, my stomach's growling, and I have to pee, and I'm thinking about those Vamps. While Sam and Cas are certain I'm going to keep changing, I'm certain I'm not, but nothing I say convinces them; I'm just going to have to wait. Unless…

That's when I remember: I'm a hunter.

I'm good at sneaking around, getting shit done. In the very least I can get me some pie, or another one of those burgers Cas had the chef make for me—there were plenty of left over. Besides, so what if they catch me? What will they do, spank me? Is Dean afraid of a little spanking? I've fought beasts and ghouls that children, _real children_ , have nightmares about. And double besides; I won't get caught. 

I creep out of bed, use the washroom, and then it's down the hall, making my way to the stairs. Quiet, I make it to the bottom and can hear voices trickling from around the corner and down the hall, where I know Cas and Sam are watching T.V.

The house is ginormous, but it's open concept and I can hear what they're saying, they're talking about me. I can't even resist. I move a little closer and listen. 

"You're the biggest push over, ever," Sam says. "The first day you were all 'big-bad-Papa' and now you pretty much let him do whatever he wants."

"Not true. I thought I lectured him pretty sternly when he stole all that salt from the kitchen and began lining windows and doorways with it."

"He should have got a spanking and you know it."

"How could I when he said it was to keep 'bad guys' away? Like you're any better. How about when he dripped water all over the bathroom floor? You even cleaned it up for him, Mama bear."

Sam whacks Cas for that one. "It's those darn eyes of his. I was all set to spank him, but if you'd seen the way he looked at me…"

"I know the way he looks Baby. It's why I can't say no to him either."

"We're so screwed. Imagine that face on a little guy?" Sam says.

"Yeah I know."

"I love you, Cassy. I'm so glad we're doing this together. I love having a son."

"Me too, Baby."

I hear them kiss.

Blech! When I hear my 'parents' begin to make out, I'm out. Least I'm safe with the knowledge they'll be busy for awhile.

No one's in the kitchen—it's all shut down for the night. Perfect. I open the fridge to a smorgasbord of pie. Like, seriously, it's pie heaven; _and_ there's burgers!

I don't even make myself a plate, I just take out one whole pecan pie (missing the two pieces I had earlier) and a burger… okay two burgers (I'm a growing hunter) and sit on a bar stool at the island with a fork and dig in. 

I think best when I'm eating, so I think. I could bust out at night, but I would need a car. I know Cas locks this place down like Alcatraz, I'd have to get by all those bodyguards I know are around here. Climbing out the window to my bedroom is the best option, but I'll bets there's some dudes strategically placed. I'll figure it all out. Always do. How hard can it be? I'm already here, polishing off my third piece of stolen pie and no one's the wiser. 

Then a light clicks on and my stomach plummets. I feel a strange sort of bubbly terror I've never felt—not even hunting any of the big bad stuff. It's Sam. "Dean?"

He looks bewildered then he's running over to me and patting me all over my spider-man pajamas (these two are not so good at age appropriate things), making sure I'm all right. "Oh God, Dean." He's crouched down, his head is buried in my lap. "We thought something happened to you."

With a strength I was pretty sure the large man had, but have never seen, he picks me up. I'm fucking frozen, not sure what's going to happening, so my legs automatically circle around his waist. I've got fairly long legs, but I'm skinny—was a very skinny teen 'till I hit mid-puberty. And Sam's a mammoth, so he moves smoothly with me attached to him to the entrance to the kitchen and calls out, "Cas! Cas?"

"Yeah?" we hear from above us.

"I found him, you can call off the search."

Search? Oh shit. I'm in trouble now.

"Okay. Be right there."

Sam brings me back to the kitchen and sits me on the marble island. "You were supposed to be in bed Dean. What are you doing down here?"

"I'm sorry. I was so hungry."

"And you couldn't have come to get one of us? If you were that hungry, we would have given you a snack Dean."

They would have? And I notice a distinct lack of 'Pumpkin Butters' and 'Sugarbugs.' Fuck, I'm in big trouble, aren't I?

Cas runs in, out of breath. "Dean! Jesus, you scared us."

I flinch a bit at his loud voice. The man never raises his voice, he doesn't need to, to be foreboding. "I was just having a snack," I lie. I'm pissed that my first attempt at 'sneaking out' has ended so horribly. I haven't even left the house.

Cas has to perform his own checks on me and one of the men in black come into the kitchen. "The Perimeter is secured, sir."

"Thanks, Neufeld."

He's gone and it's just me and my two 'parents' who have been in that 'just-grateful-their-kid-is-alive-shock,' but now it's dying away and they both look very unimpressed. Remember what I said when I got this stupid idea? That I don't care about getting spanked or upsetting them… That they're not so scary… all that? Yeah, well I was talking smack. I'm very scared right now. I know these two won't harm me in a bad way, I know they care about me, I know they'd do anything for me, and that makes everything a thousand times worse. Because I'm scared that I've lost their good opinion, okay? And it's stupid, fucking stupid. Stupider than the whole idea to steal pie and hunt vampires. I look down at my hands and play with the sleeve of my spider-man pajamas, feeling very much like a little kid, one even smaller than thirteen, as I sit on the counter top of the island, and get stared down by my parents.

"I don't think, so young man. Look at your father and I please," and that's Sam's 'he's going to roast me alive voice.' I know that because I've heard him scold me plenty, but not like this. 

In a desperate attempt to make it out of this alive, I know what I have to do: I break out the Dean eyes they were talking about earlier.

"I don't think, so Dean. You're not getting out of this one, I thought I was going to have a heart attack," Cas says.

"But I was hungry," I try again, lamely. I don't want to be in trouble.

Sam sighs and looks at Cas. They're not sure what to do, that's hopeful, but they seem to be having some kind of silent communication I'm not privy to yet. They've known each other so long, since they were kids they've told me. It makes me nervous, I can't figure out what they're planning.

"We've been too lenient Dean and that's our fault," Cas finally says. "It doesn't prosper an environment a kid can feel safe in."

Oh God. That's right out of that social worker's mouth. I can hear her voice channeling though Cas. "No. Not lenient at all, this is my fault and I'm sorry, Cas."

Shit. That slipped out by accident. I'd been pretty careful about it, but man, I guess I do feel kind of tired. Maybe Sam was right. Cas gives a 'see?' kind of look to Sam and Sam's eyes are definitely agreeing with him. "That's a good example, Dean. We aren't Sam and Cas to you, but that's always how you'll think of us if we don't enforce certain rules. The social worker said it's important we do and we've mentioned it, but for the most part we've let it go. Now we can see that was a mistake," Sam says.

This talking in 'we's' thing isn't new. They've done it before and it never ends with me getting the thing I want. Maybe I can convince them to get me a sibling, so it's not always two against one.

"Who am I Dean?" Sam says, crossing his arms and looking at me sternly.

"This isn't fair! Why do you two get to make all the rules?" It's the only distraction I've got. Now I know why kids say stupid, nonsensical shit like that. They know they have to give in to whatever it is their parents want, or pay the piper, but they really, really don't want to, so they prolong it for as long as they fucking can.

Sam gently places his large thumb under my chin and uses it to maneuver my head, so my eyes look directly into his. "Answer the question please, sur."

He's never called me that before and I wonder if his mama used it on him when he was a little boy? There's no doubt it means he's scolding me.

"Daddy," I say in a small voice and throw his thumb off by moving my head sideways.

"We're not done, sur. And who is Cas?"

"Father."

"Or?"

"Papa."

"Good, boy." He ruffles my hair and looks to Cas for help. What? I can still call them what I want in my head, right?

Aaaannnd they're talking again, without fucking words; this has been the longest ten minutes of my life and I can see they've finally come to a decision. Then they're playing fucking: Rock, paper, scissors. Sam loses. "Always with the scissors, Baby."

"C'mon. Best outta three?"

"I don't think, so," Cas says. He comes over to me. "Stay put this time, Kiddo. I'll be up in a few minutes okay?"

"What's going on?" He kisses my crown and moves off to clean up my private pie and burger buffet without another word. I look to Sam, who looks a little afraid of me, but also resolute. "D-Daddy?"

I know that fucking breaks his heart. He looks pleadingly at Cas, who just smiles to himself, pretending not to notice. "Oh, fine. But next time you have to!" Sam says.

"Have to what?" These two are terrifying the fuck outta me.

Sam sighs. "Come with me please, Dean."

I follow behind Sam like a duckling after his mama. We stop by the bathroom. "Do you have to go pee, Dean?" I shake my head. He leads me to my bedroom and turns on the light, he sits on the bed; I'm standing near him. "I want you to know if you need anything, at anytime, ever, you can come get us. I really mean anytime, even if we're asleep. Do you understand?" I still know English, is want I want to say, but there's some kinda ominous cloud over this conversation, so I just nod.

"Verbal answer, please."

"Yeah, I get it."

I don't say that so nice, since, it's my nerves making me act like a shithead. He doesn't look to like the way I answered him and now I've gone and made him resolved in whatever it is he'd about to do. 'Cause he's going to do something and I'm pretty sure I know what now, but I'm trying not to think about that, just in case he's not and my thoughts might bring my fear to life.

"You have to follow our rules, Dean. When we say it's bedtime, it's bedtime. That means no getting out of bed, understand?"

I give him the eyes. "Yes, Daddy."

That's apparently his new kryptonite. "Dean I really don't want to spank you, but when you break the rules, I'm going to."

Holy fuck. They were rock, paper, scissoring over who had to spank me! At least neither of them was looking forward to doing it. "Can't we just let this one go with a stern, warning? I promise not to do it again. Please?"

I almost have him, I'm so close, but then he remembers. "Your father and I made this decision together. You've earned this spanking fair and square, Mister. I hope it will help you remember to be where you ought to."

Yep. Screwed. I could struggle, but Sam's way stronger than me and I know he'd win in the end. All I can save now is what little of my pride and dignity I can. I feel Sam's mammoth hands reach to the top of my pajama pants and pull them down; a fizzy sensation buzzes in my gut and all thoughts of not protesting are out the window, I reach to stop him. "No. Please, at least leave me my pants and my dignity!" I complain.

"You were naughty, Dean. And we spank bare bottoms in this house; remember that for next time so there isn't one. If you could only feel my heart, how much it was pounding, how scared I was."

My pants and Captain America underwear are down at my ankles quick after that and I'm over his lap, my body on the bed. He pulls me in close to him, my body so much smaller than his—now I really do feel like a kid—and he lays the first spank down on my poor ass.

I've been whooped with my Dad's belt plenty; I didn’t think this would hurt, but it does. It's not nearly as painful physically, true, but it hurts enough I already don't want anymore and the shame of worrying my parents like I did resonates through my body.

Somehow these two have already left an impression with me and I want to remain in their good opinion. Sam continues to spank me, alternating each cheek and it doesn't take long before I'm trying to kick out the sting, 'cause man, it _hurts._

"Daddy, please, can I h-have a pillow?" I say between more of Sam's solid whacks and sobs that are becoming a little over the top—apparently I'm a thirteen-year-old drama queen. I'm given a pillow right away and I clutch it tight to me and get it all mucked up with my snot and tears. When he's finally finished, my ass feels like it's glowing like Demon's fire—Sam's good at spanking; too good. I vow never to disobey them again.

He pulls me up and rights my clothes, and positions me on the bed so he can snuggle me while I still cry. "You're okay, my little pie thief. You're so special to me, Daddy was so scared."

I pull away to look up at him, still crying, "I'm sorry, Daddy. Forgive me?"

"Of course! It's forgotten. All done now. I never want to have to do that again to my Sugarbug." He kisses my face all over and tickles me until I'm laughing—okay fine, I'm giggling.

That's when Cas knocks on the open door. When I see who it is, I run to him, not even sure why, I'm feeling all high on emotion right now and it's fucking weird for me. I wrap my arms around his torso. "Daddy spanked me," I complain to him.

He chuckles with a hand through my hair as I use his shirt as a tissue. I can feel the guilt peeling off Sam. "And I have little sympathy for you—I think I suffered a minor stroke."

"I'm too, old for spankings," I mumble, sniffling.

"No one's too old for spankings in this house," he says cryptically and looks over at Sam with a wink. Hmmm, that makes me think.

"Okay, it's way past your bedtime. Into bed," Sam prompts.

Sam's got a tissue for me and helps me wipe my face with it. Together they tuck me into bed, my hot rear making me regret my adventure some, but I mostly regret how awful I made them both feel. I get a kiss from each of them before they turn out the light and Sam reminds me, "if you need anything, you know where our bedroom is. Promise?"

"Promise," I say with a yawn. I am pretty fucking tired now. And Dean's, out.


	5. The incredible Shrinking Hunter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean shrinks and has trouble adjusting to his 'new' age. Dean finds out his new parents are afraid of spiders. Hilarity ensues... sorta...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I gave it away in the comments, I'll give it away here now.
> 
> In this chapter, Sam announces that he's certain Dean's all done modifying. But if you've read the tags, you'll note they say: bottles, Pacifiers... etc... They're there for a reason, so hang tight. Dean is going to get littler, but I'm going to drag it into the next chapter. Something big's about to happen though, so stay tuned. 
> 
> Hope you have fun with this chapter. 
> 
> As you'll see, Dean switches back and forth a lot calling them Sam and Cas and Daddy and Papa in his head. I LITERALLY wrote it how he said it in my head while I wrote, so that's what you get to see. There's no real rhyme or reason to it. I suspect it's in part because of the changes to his mindset from the Modlenol and socialization. But you can speculate your own theories!
> 
> Lemme know what you think! :-)

In the morning there's no evidence of there having been a spanking at all, which seems like kind of a rip off considering how it felt in the getting. For the record, that spanking was nothing like my dad used to give, but I still want that to happen again never.

I'm totally going to be an awesome kid for them today. They haven't given me that many rules, other than the embarrassing, be a good boy Dean Winchester; I think I can do that. How hard can it be?

As I hop out of bed with plans of making it to the washroom, I notice my pajamas are bigger than they ought to be. Fuck. No. I didn't even get sick, how could this have happened? I run to the bathroom closest to my room to see what I look like. 

If I hated being thirteen, I hate being not thirteen even more. I don't know how old I am now, but I'm smaller. Thankfully not by much, but my face is all fucking cutesy and I'm sure there'd be dimples if I was smiling. I sure as hell don't feel like smiling right now. In fact all I do want is—oh God— _Daddy._

I run frantically down the hall and to the end where the large double doors are, I don't even knock, but barge in. I'm sort of curious to see actually, if I would get such easy admission, I mean, I'm sure Cas and Sam 'got it on.' Weren't they worried their 'kid' would walk in on them during a sex session? Okay, I've talked myself into knocking next time, but right now, it's crisis mode. 

I run to the side of the bed I know is Sam's, and I tug on the blankets, "D-Daddy?" I even _sound_ young.

"Dean?" his sleepy voice croaks. It wakes Cas up too and because he's on the other side, he's got a clear view of me when he sits up. He shakes Sam awake, and though he's trying not to freak out for my sake, he is freaking out.

Sam looks at Cas first, but realizing I'm here and not just a member of his dream, he flips around to where I am. His big broad chest is shirtless and I can see every one of those muscles flex as he easily scoops me up and brings me onto the bed with them. "Dean?" he says again.

Sam's awake now and he's looking at me with wonder in his eyes as he swoops some of the hair off my face. It's still long on top and floppy, but man do I look like I'm from the early 90's. Maybe I can at least wheedle a cool hair-cut outta them to make up for what's happening to me. I think Vampire hunting is out now, I don’t know how old I am, but there's just no way I can swing a machete with these puny, scrawny muscles.

And suddenly, I'm crying with no idea why, but Daddy knows just what to do and sits up, fixing his blanket over his lower half and pulling me to him. I put my small arm around his torso, it barely makes it around the other side.

Cas joins in and spoons around Sam, so he's snuggling me too. They both coo at me until my sniffles die down. Cas is the first one to speak. "This is a great photo opp."

"Not funny, Papa," I say, I'm not even thinking about it, it just comes out. Fucking kid brain. If I thought these two were big before, they are larger now and bigger in my mind on another scale. The things the demon-lady social worker told them to do have been working to meld my mind all this time and the further I sink into childhood, the more they became Daddy and Papa to me.

It makes Cas smile. He tickles me. "I think it's funny, squirt."

"Oh no! I veeto that nickname."

"But you're okay with 'Pumpkin Butter?'" Cas complains.

"Squirt implies I'm small and I'm not. I'm big for my age. By the way how big do you think I look?"

Both Cas and Sam appraise me. "Maybe eight, or nine?"

"I agree. Somewhere around there," Sam says.

"This blows."

"Hey, it's going to be fine, Sugarbug." He pokes my belly.

"Should we get up, make breakfast? I should probably go in and check on the office for a few hours," Cas says regretfully. "I want to stay home with you though. You're so damned cute!"

"Papa!" He's not sorry at all though; he loves this and though Sam is quiet, it's only because he knows better; he likes me little too. Assholes.

Cas gives me a sloppy kiss to my cheek, and slides away from us and yep; he's buck-naked. He struts off to find a robe."

"Ignore, Papa. He's not trying to make fun, he's just happy."

"At my misery? That doesn't seem nice." I cross my arms and pout and although he stops himself saying so, I can tell he's thinking I'm cute; that makes me madder.

"C'mon, sweetie. Turn that frown upside down."

I shake my head.

"I know. Should we spank, Papa? For not being nice?"

I laugh at that, and oh _God,_ it comes out as a giggle that sounds more annoyingly little than it did before.

"I can hear you two scheming out there."

I giggle harder.

"You're the one who said no one's too old for spankings," Sam reminds him.

Cas comes back out from their ensuite bath and leans across the bed to kiss Sam on the lips.

"Ewwww!" I say.

"Come with me, little boy," Cas says and I begin worming my way off his side of the large bed. "You have a shower, Sam. Then come join us."

"Yes, Cassy."

It's not the first time Cas has given Sam and order, but it's the most direct one I've heard. Sure Sam tells Cas what to do sometimes, but it's somehow different than this. Cas drags me away by my hand, but I look back toward Sam trying to figure out what the hell just happened.

~SDC~

I'm sitting at the kitchen's strange table. It's set up like a bay window with four seats along the window side and one along the 'L.' The table is long and there are four single seats along the side opposite the window and one at the head, where Cas is sitting.

I've seen this table plenty, but we've never eaten here, least not yet. We used the dining table all the other times. Their personal chef, Andrew, is busy cooking for us while Cas drinks coffee and reads some things he says he has to for work. I'm waiting for Sam to come down, bored as hell. "Sit on your bottom, please, Dean," Cas says without looking at me. I turn a scowl on him. I'm not doing anything. I mean, I was climbing around the different pieces of the table, but I wasn't hurting anything.

He doesn't like being scowled at. He gives me a freezing look that out does mine by a long shot and I look at the place setting in front of me as he scolds me. "Drink your orange juice, Kiddo before you get into trouble."

Wow. 'Papa's' good mood has suddenly fled the country. He seems kinda cranky.

Drinking my orange juice means crawling across the bay window side seat. I do so hesitantly. He gives me one hell of a stink-eye. I sit like a freaking angel, while I drink some juice. But before long, I'm banging my heels against wood of the window seat. What the fucking Satan is making me so fidgety? This makes no sense. I'm a twenty-eight year old male, I've sat still for many long hours at a time, especially during longer stakeouts, but now it's like I've got ants in my pants.

"I think you need a time out, young man. You're not listening to Papa," grumpy Cas says.

That's absurd. Time outs are for really little boys and I'm nothing like that. Stupidly, I talk back to him, which is weird because as brash as I am, I can sense when I'm going to be in trouble and can usually catch myself before I'm actually in trouble. Right now, I can't. Added with the embarrassment of being chastised in front of company (the Chef-dude) my anger is bubbling.

This is about where my whole pact to be 'an awesome kid' goes out the window. "I'm too big for a time out. You're a real grouch this morning, maybe you should have the time out." Okay, wow. I should _not_ have said that. That still doesn't mean I thought I should have a time-out.

Cas calmly puts down what he's reading. "Corner. That one. Now."

I look over to where the Chef cooked our meal, he's not paying us any attention, but I know he can hear everything. How embarrassing.

You think I'd listen now. Nope. "Forget it. I'm not standing in a freaking corner. I'm eight not four."

"We don't actually know how old you are. And your behavior is the equivalent of four at the moment; I must hand out consequences for what I deem fit. Move your bum now, before I spank it. I'm very disappointed in your behavior, Dean Winchester."

I go to the corner after that, but only because I don't want to be spanked in front of the Chef-dude. I'm pissed. I stand there fuming, until I hear Daddy come into the kitchen. I'm ready to run crying to him, literally, but Oscar the Grouch stops me. "I don't think so, Dean. Stay put."

I turn back around, but I stomp my foot.

"What the heck is going on? I've been away from you two for thirty minutes."

"Dean needs some thinking time."

"Papa's a grouch," I say from the corner, not caring anymore, but then regret it instantly when I hear his papers being put down and his chair slide out.

"Let me, Cassy. Please?" Sam says.

He must have said okay, because Sam comes over to me and takes my hand and leads surly looking 'little' Dean out of the kitchen. He picks me up to sit me on the sofa in the living room and crouches between my legs. "What's going on, Pumpkin Butter?"

"Papa isn't nice, he's being all grouchy. I tried to sit still. I swear I did, but I just couldn't. My legs felt all wriggly and, I don't know what's going on."

"Hmmm… I think what's going on, is you haven't been this young for a long time, you aren't used to it, sweetheart, but did you also say some 'not-nice' things to Papa?"

Damn. I did, but I sorta thought he deserved it. "Well, yeah, but…"

"No, buts. That isn't how Winchester's treat one another, it's always unacceptable. You're going to apologize to Papa and finish your time out like a good boy."

"But, but that's not fair! I can't help it and that isn't a proper punishment for an eight-year-old."

"If you can't help it, Papa and I will help you by giving you time to think."

Yeah, I know what thinking time is now.

"Do you make the rules in this house?"

"No, but I should."

"Dean Winchester!"

Okay, I don't want to piss him off too, maybe I should back track a bit. "I'm sorry. This is all weird. I haven't been eight in twenty years."

"Okay, I can give you some lee-way today, but you can't talk to Papa, _or Daddy_ like that, okay, bug?"

"Okay."

"Good, boy."

He brings me back into the kitchen and I sullenly make my way over to Cas. "I'm sorry, Papa."

"Thank you, Dean."

"Okay, go on and finish up your time out, Sur," Sam says with a pat to my ass that's just this side of too much force. It's pretty much a swat and stings just a little.

I head over to the corner, to resume my staring and eventually I do feel kinda shitty for being such an ass to Cas. I can hear them talking from where I am, and every now and again, I hear the occasional tid bit. They're talking about me. I'm pretty sure Daddy's making a case for me, but they're talking too quiet for me to hear.

"Come here, little boy," Cas finally says and I run over to him.

"I'm sorry, Papa. I was being a jerk."

He brings me into his lap. "You're not a jerk, but I do forgive you for misbehaving and Papa's sorry too. You were right, I am a little cranky; do you know why?"

I shake my head.

"Reading through my work stuff gets me agitated and riled. It's not a good time to test my patience. But you didn't know."

"I still shouldn't have acted like a little kid. I just, couldn’t sit still and I don't know why." 

"That's because you are a kid, Dean Bean!" Sam says.

I still don't quite agree, though this morning has been enough to convince me a little. The Chef-dude is serving us up as we have our FHM: Full House Melodrama scene. Thank Christ; I'm starving.

"Okay, sit down nice in your seat. Daddy has some news to share with you," Cas says.

Good news? There's good news on this fucking pineapple express? 'Cause so far, I hate being eight, or however the hell old I am.

"Eat your breakfast, Dean Bean and I'll tell ya."

Okay, but this better be good. No I don't say it out loud.

"I think the reason you didn't get sick this time is because this must have been the last of the Modlenol in your system, and more good news, I don't think you can be eight if that's the case. I think the sicker you are, the more Modlenol available, the more you de-age. So, you've got to be closer to ten or eleven."

"Then how come I'm so small?"

"Not sure, bug. But now that you've finished modifying, we'll take you to the doctor and he can give us a better estimate on how old you are. This means it's all growing up from here, Sugar!"

That doesn't sound so bad.

The mood at the table is a helluva lot lighter than it has been, but I'm still fidgety and though I loathe admitting it, like a kid, I guess. I get told more than once to settle down, but I make it through without much more than that.

Cas leaves to get ready for work and Sam distracts me. "So what we going to do today, bug?"

"Let's go shoot stuff. This is seriously a bummer." I think it's the only thing that can make me feel better.

Sam winces. "Ahhh. See the thing is…" But he trails off, not wanting to tell me what the thing is. 

"What's going on?"

"Well now that you're younger—"

"You aren't going to let me shoot guns?" I finish for him. "What the? You said I'm most likely ten, tell me your daddy didn't take you shooting at that age _Samuel Colt,_ " 

"It's not about your age per se, Sugar; you and I are two very different people." 

"What happened to what Papa said about me being a Winchester and no son of his wouldn't learn how to shoot?" 'Cause this is pure bullshit and makes this suck more.

"You're getting worked up over nothing, Dean Winchester. Papa and I haven't made any decisions, because we didn't know if it would be an issue, but now that you're younger, it needs to be discussed.

"Am I going to be part of this conversation?"

"Sometimes your father and I have to decide things on our own for you Dean—"

"In other words, no," I cut in, so not impressed.

"We've been talking to your Uncle Bobby."

_Uncle Bobby?_

"Why were you talking to Bobby?" I say just his name to remind him that I'm not a little boy even if it looks that way at the moment.

"We wanted to find out about you—your life before us. We got the feeling from some of the things you told us that it wasn't like other childhoods. We just want to give you a real childhood Dean."

"I liked my childhood fine. Did you think of that?"

"We did and we know how much you like hunting, but hunting is all you know Dean. Papa and I were just thinking that you could try being a real kid this time around."

"I made my first sawed off when I was nine."

"That was another life, sweetheart. What do you say? You could just think of it as a 'hunting hiatus' huh?" He nudges me playfully.

He's seated beside me now on the bay window where the light's coming in from the sunny day outside; Daddy's hair flops all over his face now that it's dry from his shower, I laugh. "Is that funny? A hunting hiatus?"

"Nothing funny about that. Your hair it's—"

"Doing this?" He swings his head side to side. I laugh he's funny. He keeps doing it, I laugh harder. What the fuck is wrong with me?

"Hey, what's going on in here? Is Daddy being silly?" Cas is back and he's all dolled up in a white button up shirt, slacks and a beige trench coat. He crooks his finger at Sam. "C'mere, Baby."

You're going to think I'm a sappy sucker for saying this, but there's something magical between these two, and every fucking time I watch it, I feel all warm inside.

Sam gets this goofy grin on his face, like he's never seen Cas before and fuck, he's only been gone for like, twenty minutes. Cas appraises Sam, like he's checking him over, like maybe a shark has attacked him since they last set eyes on each other and he has to make sure he's okay—that not one hair is missing from his pretty head of hair. Then Sam grabs him by the lapels of his trench coat, but not in a possessive way, that's not Sam's MO; he's holding them like he's holding on for dear life. 

No possession is all Cas's MO.

Cas grabs Sam around the waist to pull him in then both hands are in his long hair and he's bringing Sam's head down to kiss him. And it's a kiss I tell you. It's all consuming. Combustible. I don't know how they do it, go from dewy-eyed to combustible, but they do every fucking time. _Every. Fucking. Time._ When they pull away, it's like they finally caught a breath of air after not breathing a long time and they stare into each other's eyes and thank somebody for yet another moment together.

I'm serious. I wouldn't, _couldn't_ make this shit up. I've never even seen love like this before. It makes me kinda proud.

Then they remember me again. "Come say bye to Papa, Pumpkin Butter." Sam's still looking at Cas like he's a freaking miracle or something. I feel like I'm intruding, but I'm invited, so I hop off the bay window and approach them, they pull a part. Cas reaches down and picks me up. It's not the same as Sam picking me up, since he's way smaller than Sam, but he's got me around the waist and my feet are definitely off the ground, his arm under my ass.

I hug him and before I think about what I'm doing, I kiss his cheek. They've kissed me loads of times, but I don't usually kiss them, what can I say? I'm wrapped up in the moment. Their sap is contagious. "Thanks, Kiddo. I was a little worried you were still angry with me."

I shake my head. "I'm not." It will be weird without the strange, stern man today.

"Good." He puts me back down. "Be a good boy for Daddy."

"I will, Papa." And fuck if I don't want to try my damnedest. Something about this guy, makes you want to make him proud.

~SDC~

Sam and I promptly go for a walk, after he dresses me. Thankfully, it's not something too little kidish, other than the sizing, but no super hero shit, or dancing monkeys. Not that I don't like super heroes or dancing monkeys, mind you, but it's one thing to wear them when you're an adult and another when you look like a kid—just makes you look more like a kid. He shows me all around the outside of their home, 'cept of course he calls it 'our home' to include me. I'm starting to feel that way; I accept that this Modlenol shit doesn't have an anti-venom, but I still feel a little weird calling this place home—I've only been here a few days and I've never had a real home.

This place is huge and I was high thinking I could leave without Sam and Cas's permission, at least in the 'condition' I'm in now.

It takes us a good two hours, but I've learned there's a duck pond and now that I'm most likely not at risk to change, I can come out here on my own. He tells me other stuff, like: We'll pick a school for me and get to go on vacation twice a year; we'll make plans to have me meet both of their families; I have grandparents now. It all sounds kinda cool actually. I can't believe it; Dean's getting a huge ass family.

When we get inside, he puts a bit of a damper on my good mood by announcing: "Okay, Sur, let's go have a little snooze."

"What, a snooze? You mean like a nap? Why?"

"Because, you were up way later than you should have been last night and you know it Mr. Winchester _and_ you modified last night. You may not have gotten sick, but it takes a toll on your little body. I'm sure lack of sleep contributed to your grouchiness this morning."

"But, but, I don't want to." I know. Lame-ass argument, but I've got nothing else.

"Well I want to. Daddy's tired. C'mon, I'll let you sleep in our big bed with me."

By our big bed, he means his and Cas's bed. I'm explaining that for myself, 'cause I almost can't believe it. "O-okay." For reasons unexplainable, that sounds awesome.

He changes us back into our pajamas, well me anyway, he's putting them on for the first time—apparently him and Cas sleep nude, as I learned this morning and could have gone my whole life without knowing. We snuggle back under the covers, only I've climbed on top of Daddy. If I'm having a fucking nap, then he really is too. I can't help but think he's going to slip out once I'm asleep; that this is all some elaborate trick to 'get Dean to have a nap.' It'll be impossible for him to do that if I trap him.

As is fast becoming the usual, Daddy is right—we're both tired and I'm out as soon as I close my eyes.

~SDC~

We wake up hours later to a flash. "Oh hey, Cassy. What time is it?"

"It's just after two. Check out this sweet picture of you two."

They coo over the picture, as I rub my eyes. "Papa?"

"I'm home, Kiddo. Didn't even have a chance to miss me did you?"

I might have missed him, just a little, but I don't tell him to avoid looking, as sappy as _they_ usually do. Instead, I crawl over to him when he jumps in the bed with us and cuddle into his soildness. He's in his pajamas too. "Look at us, right back where we started this day," Cas says.

Sam laughs. "Guess so."

"I bring news though, from Uncle Bobby," Cas says.

I perk the hell up. "Yeah?"

"He's coming here, with another man, to take care of that vampire nest. He's going to stop by on his way out of town."

Guess Bobby's the only one available to take care of it. "Did he say the name, Rufus, by chance, Papa?"

"That's the one."

I bounce up and down, not realizing I am. I can't wait to see Bobby and Rufus. I'm guessing I won't be drinking Johnnie Walker with Rufus this time though. I had tried to weasel a beer out of these two, 'cause it's not like that's _real_ alcohol, but from the look I got, I figure it's best to stay away from that topic for now. I know where their liquor cabinet is if I really 'need' something. It's only been a couple of days without and there's been a lot going on; distracting me. 

"Oh my God, Sam," Cas suddenly says. "Don't look behind you."

What? I immediately look behind Sam. By his head on the wall is the largest fucking spider I've ever seen. Holy Shitballs! I'm about to start laughing, when I'm grabbed around the waist by Daddy to the tune of Cas saying: "Grab the baby! Run! I'll be behind you."

Apparently this isn't the first time this has happened, because Daddy seems to know exactly what's going on. Without alarming the spider; at amazing speed; he's got me and I'm whisked off the bed and out of the room, Papa's behind us, door shut, breathing hard. I'm clutched to Daddy, Papa's already assessing us both for damage.

And holy shit! They're both deathly terrified of spiders. I wiggle out of Sam's arms to be let down, laughing hysterically. And when I get to the ground, I'm demonstrating the literal meaning of ROFLMFAO. They both stare at me like I'm a lunatic.

"You two… are… a-ahahahha…" I can't even say it.

"What's so funny, Dean?" Cas asks.

Finally I'm able to compose myself, kinda. "You two are afraid of spiders."

"Did you see it? It was huge," Cas says like that's an explanation for his irrational fear. I mean I could see if it was like, a tarantula or something, but this is a regular, everyday, spider we're talking. On steroids, sure, but regular. It's an Arachnid Swartzenegger.

"I saw it Papa."

"So what are we going to do Cas? It's in our _bedroom_!" Sam's borderline freaking out.

"We'll move to the room next to Dean's for the night, I'll call pest control now. I can have them here by early morning—"

"You two are going to move bedrooms? Because of a spider?" God they're ridiculous. I shake my head. "Is this what you always do?"

"Well sometimes, if we can trap them under a pot, we leave them there until they die and the house staff cleans them up."

Oh God. I think I've seen some of those pots around.

"You got a better idea, wise-guy?" Papa says.

"I do. It's called a broom with some foil wrapped around it."

"Are you suggesting we go after it? I'm not going near that thing, Cassy. No way. Uh-uh."

"Nope, me neither," Cas says.

"Jesus. I'll do it. It's just a freaking spider," I offer.

"I don't think so, Dean Winchester, you're not going near that thing," Sam says. Whenever he calls me Dean Winchester, I know it means 'Daddy has spoken,' but this time it's over something ridiculous so I feel fine to answer back.

"When I was seven, I took out a spider about three times the size of that, only it wasn't a regular spider. It was an Pyroarachnid."

"A what?"

"A spider that spits fire—singed off all my freaking arm hair, but I sent that thing straight back to he—H, E, double hockey sticks." They're in shock, but also giving me their stern, 'don't you dare cuss Dean Winchester,' eyes. "So c'mon, what do you say? Let me at it."

"I think we should let Papa call pest control." Daddy's completely against the idea, _I'm_ not going to sway him.

Cas surprises me. "I think we should let him have a crack at it. I mean a fire spitting spider—I'm pretty sure this one's just regular… though the way it looked at me."

"Cas… no."

I want to whine, because normally when one of them is really against something the other automatically agrees, I've noticed. This is stupid. A Hunter who's not even allowed to kill a damn spider.

"I think Papa rules on this one. Papa says we let him. You may hunt the spider, Dean."

Wow. I didn't expect him to be so reasonable, though I guess I should have, strict he may be, but he's always been reasonable.

Daddy grabs me up again and I know better than to struggle away; I wrap my legs, much shorter than they were last night, around him. He's extremely displeased. "Fine. But if he's going in, he'll be properly attired. That's non-negotiable, Sur."

Aw man. What will Daddy think properly attired means?

~SDC~

I look ridiculous.

I'm wearing a colander, yes, a fucking colander on my head, which Papa craftily drilled a strap into (an old belt) that secures under my chin—is the spider going to try to give me a concussion? I did ask Daddy that and it didn't go over well. He told me if I didn't clean up my smart mouth, he would for me and I knew what that meant, so I shut my piehole after that. I forgave him being so grouchy. He really doesn't want me going in after the spider; he's terrified.

I'm also equipped with elbow pads, kneepads and body armor in the form of a chest plate fashioned from cardboard.

At least I get a cool weapon, one I made. Being arms dealers themselves they understood the importance of having the right weapon for the job. Papa helped me wrap aluminum foil around a thick, straw broom. It is a bit over kill for the size of this particular spider, but it's awesome and I'm using it. Besides it will make the job easier. I've also got a decent sized flashlight and some stuff to clean up the body: Lots of tissue and a bottle of Windex. My vote for salt and matches was doubly veeteoed.

We're standing outside the door and for a moment, it feels like old times with Dad. I'm the lead of this job though, they're my civilians I'm protecting, 'cause they don't want anywhere near the spider.

I open the door giving it momentum enough to creak open slow on its own and I go in with my flashlight to light the way. "Be careful, Dean Winchester," Daddy warns in a whisper.

I'm in my element though and his voice is just a distant thing I barely hear. I'm hunting.

I'm not dumb enough to think the spider will still be in the same… oh, it's pretty close to. Actually, it's in an easier spot to hit with my broom weapon.

Prepping for this job took two hours. Finding the beast, plus kill, plus cleanup takes five. I shake my head.

I come out, 'helmet' off and weapon down. I flushed the 'beast' down their toilet. After it was mushed, it wasn't big at all; heaven forbid they _see_ it.

Daddy and Papa are both surrounding me with hugs and kisses saying, "our brave boy," and "how'd it go?"

"Ding-dong the beast is dead!" I crow.

"Good job, Dean Bean. Daddy was scared for you, but I should have known better." He's crouched down to my height.

Papa steps forward and ruffles his hand through Daddy's hair. "I knew our Dean could do it."

Daddy rolls his eyes.

"I think I know just the way to reward our little Hunter," Papa says.

"You do?" I've never gotten a reward for hunting before.

"It's a three letter word and I think Andrew's baker just made some fresh for you."

"Pie!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jan 25, 2017: I am to the end of this chapter on the re-edit.


	6. Baby's Back!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean knows something's up; what are his new parents keeping from him? Despite being warned not to, Dean takes precautions. Dean gets a cool surprise.

My spidey senses are tingling and I know the 'adults' are up to something. Yes I've finally broke that much and I can definitely both see and feel a difference between them and me, but I'm not quite ready to admit to 'kid' status yet. I'm currently referring to myself as a 'non-adult.' And before you say it, you can just shut your cakehole—no I'm not in denial. See? I know what you're thinking.

Anyway, a lot of shit has happened. Some good even. I'll catch you up.

First things first, my parents (yes I call them my parents now, they're pretty kick-ass and if I have to be like this I want _them_ ) tried to get an appointment for me with their doctor, who was unfortunately away on holiday. They insisted it must be him, so we've got an appointment for next Monday.

Daddy promised me that schools do have a way of placing moddlers, but in order to begin that process we need the note from the doctor giving a suggestion on where that process might begin.

Papa suggested maybe we would take a trip somewhere soon, but before we begin booking flights out of town, Daddy said we should know when I'm in school, so basically we're in fucking limbo. They did offer to take me to a toy store and buy me whatever I wanted. But I told them: "No way in fucking hell am I stepping foot in a toy store." Neither parent was pleased, nor did either feel sorry for me when I was still finding soap shreds in my teeth at dinner. Another experience I don't wanna re-live by the way, but it's going to be hard. I think I've been swearing since the womb.

In any case, it's "not appropriate for little boys" and "certainly not in this house, Dean Winchester." It's more Sam that's against the whole swearing thing, though Cas is certainly not _for_ it. But Sam's even threatened to soap out Cas' mouth once or twice.

I settled for being taken to the electronic store to buy an itouch, but was forced to go shopping on the app store with both parents supervising. I had to practically _beg_ for ACDC and Metallica was out of the question until I was at least thirteen again. I had to veeto David Bowe, no offense David, you're just not my style, but Daddy loves you.

Papa, surprisingly has way better taste in music and swayed Sam on a few of my choices. It was because of him I got Def Leopard, Poison, Nazerath and Alice Cooper. But apparently Judas Priest and Sabbath were also forbidden by Daddy.

Being pre-teen blows.

They did let me get cool headphones though _and_ a computer. Yep. My own MacBookPro. And as the week went on, they were more certain the Modlenol had done its thing, so they took me clothes shopping where _I_ got to pick the clothes instead of clueless, well meaning Shane.

There were many cutesy things Daddy wanted to get me and I obliged him on a few because as it turns out, I can't say no to that sad, puppy dog thing his eyes can do that I've been told by both parents I do. Papa can't say no to Daddy either when he gives the puppy eyes, they're kryptonite I tell yah.

Papa doesn't have a puppy-dog look; his look is a whole lot different than Daddy's and mine, but it's one that when he gives it, Daddy and I _both_ respond to. He doesn't need puppy dog eyes; he has 'do-it-now-or-suffer-the-consequences-eyes' that Daddy seems to be able to read and know when to back off, but I'm still learning.

I ended up with several pairs of jeans, some cool shirts and even a leather jacket. Strict as they could be, they also fucking spoil me… a lot.

In between all that, I'd caught wind of a couple phone calls between them and Bobby that I wasn't privy to. Not to mention that despite all of the freaking men in black around, Daddy won't let me out of his sight for long and Papa doesn't let either of us stray too far. That all began about two days ago.

Something's fucking up.

It's Saturday, everybody's home, but Papa says he's got work to do from home in his office and not to disturb him. Right. I don't doubt he does that sometimes, but there was something about the way he said it I didn't believe. Remember, I'm good at reading people; he's acting fucking strange and I'm going to find out what the fuck's going on.

I sweetly climb onto Daddy's lap. He's reading, but he doesn't mind me interrupting him. But he must have a sixth fucking Daddy sense, because he knows I'm up to something. "What do you want, Sur?"

I've learned that 'Sur' was something his mama used on him and it was code for a lot of things, but mostly he used it when he knew I was up to something, like no good, but also if I was being difficult.

Pretty much caught out, I just huffed and gave in. "What's going on?"

"Nothing that concerns little boys."

I hate when they say that. It's basically a roadblock with no way around, over, or through.

"I know look in your eyes, Sur, I'd better not catch you looking around into places your nose doesn't belong."

Except I did think my nose belonged because I felt like it was my fucking nose. All he's done is make me more determined and curious. As much as I'll partly loathe myself for what my brain is planning, I'm doing it. Old Dean hasn't left the building yet. I know what's out there; what precautions to take; and I've got a feeling about this one. What I don't know is how to get around my parents' hawk-eyes.

"I mean it Dean Winchester."  
"Fine. You caught me. I was trying to find out what's going on, because I know something is." It's a challenge and he knows it. But frankly, I'm kinda pissed they're keeping something from me.

"Are you being disrespectful? Because you know how we feel about that; most especially your papa."

Crap. My stupid 'Dean' attitude gets me into a lot of trouble with Papa. I've learned the 'hard way' that Papa is much better at giving spankings than Daddy is. Daddy's a freaking softy compared to Papa and I only had to cross him once to never want to cross him again. I'm _a lot_ more careful to be respectful.

But now I've learned something else. Daddy isn't usually _this_ quick to such heavy scolding. In whatever's he protecting, the stakes are high. Either way, I've got to back peddle, I'm too hot on the scent too quick. Damn, still a good Hunter—can't help it.

"Sorry, Daddy. I didn't mean to be."  
"It's okay, Sugarbug. You're bored aren't you?"  
"A bit, yeah." Good. This is good. Bored. I'm bored a lot, not unusual.  
"Let's go for a run."  
I do my best not to groan, running isn't my favorite, but Daddy likes it a lot. But in the spirit of getting him off my scent, I only make a small fuss and we go.

When we get back, I shower and go to my room to listen to some tunes. It wasn't pie, but ACDC still cleared my head enough to think.

From what I gathered, just this morning from Daddy's demeanor, whatever they were hiding it's extremely important and not to be to high on myself here, but I was coming to learn that what's most important to them is me.

Of course each other too, but it was the _way_ Daddy seemed on edge. And they were talking to Bobby, so that thing they were worried about, I'm certain, must have to do with the supernatural. I know Bobby is in town, hunting vamps with Rufus and that he'll visit when they're done, but there's no reason for Bobby to call Papa so many times during his trip. And I knew that it had been Bobby calling here and not the other way around.

Papa would always excuse himself to his office whenever a certain number appeared on his phone. I know because I checked. I'd say I've still got a few tricks up my small sleeves, but Papa didn't make it all that hard. Let's just say that Papa may be paranoid in some ways, but he's not paranoid like I am—he leaves his phone around, lots.

Then I have a thought. The Modlenol. Bobby's found something. There's a way to reverse this, isn't there? And they're scared, scared of losing me…

I reject that theory right away, the first part anyway. I know them some now, and I know that if there was a way to reverse this, much as it would kill them, they'd support me in doing it. So that's not quite what Bobby found, but they are afraid of losing me.

_The Spiker. Bobby's found the Asshole who spiked me._

And chances are if Daddy and Papa are acting like this, the bastard is still after me.

Quite fucking proud of myself for reasoning all that out, I roll off my bed and take off my headphones. I shut the curtains and pull something out of my nightstand drawer.

After the whole toy store debacle, I had some making up to do. I apologized the next day and said if they were still in, I'd go. They jumped at the chance, since they really wanted me to re-live my childhood, or whatever. While I was there my stupid kid brain wanted _some_ kid stuff, while my old Dean brain couldn't help but throw things in the cart he thought might be useful. Turns out that old Dean was right.

I don't know what I'm up against, so I have to do a bit of everything. I take some of the posters down that my parents let me hang and used one of those glow-in-the-dark marker things to draw a Devil's trap in behind, but have to put them back close together so they can't be seen when the lights are turned off.

Salt is the easy part. Learning how much I like baths, Daddy suggested we buy Epson salts. At first I thought it was fucking girly, but then I remembered that meant having salt in a bathroom close to my room. When I looked excited about it, Daddy bought me a dick load, which was good since I didn't want to risk stealing from the kitchens again, but I will if I have to.

I won't be able to line the doors and windows with it now, but at least I've got some on hand. I stash it into the back of my closet and decide I'll do it every night before bed and get up early enough to clean it up. Now all I need is Holy water. I know the blessing by heart. My dad had made me memorize it when I was six.

The one type of gun I was allowed to buy, since the hypocritical jerks had since decided it was best for me not to 'play with guns' for now, was a super soaker that is pretty kick-ass actually. If I'd known kids toys could be so cool, I wouldn't have thrown up such a fuss about going to the toy store.

I filled that baby up, and did the blessing, and not a moment too soon. I have only enough time to stash the gun under my bed before Daddy knocks at my door. "Dean, would you come downstairs? Your father and I want to talk to you about something."

Crap. That sounds serious. "Uh, yeah! Be right there."

I hear him walk away. I take a quick look around, I think I'm set as can be, but I'm a little worried about the Devil's trap. The marker was kind of shitty. And oh yeah, gotta remember to re-draw my tattoo. Something else that had fucking vanished due to this Modlenol crap. I just don't know where to put it so Daddy won't see when he gives me a bath…

Thinking it's the best I can do; I head downstairs.

~SDC

"You know we've been secretive about something Dean and you're right. We do have a secret. There are two actually," Papa says.  
No shit. That I knew. I cross my arms, "yeah?"  
We're standing out front of a large structure that if I had to take a guess is a garage. It's probably the worst place they can tell me shit about what's after me. Garages hold cars and my car is gone. I'm sure they would have told me about it by now, but they've said nothing. I can't bring myself to ask. It's almost better not knowing and thinking about her alive out there, somewhere.  
But if I find out some Demon Dick stole her and is driving their sulfur dusting ass around in her, they'll be sorry when I turn twenty-one again.

They look nervous, which has nothing to do with my attitude. Though maybe I could take it a little easy on them. I'm used to dealing with this shit all the time, for them it's a first (or I suppose second if you count the Tolpa) and this time brings a long with them the added bonus of threatening the life of their baby boy—also something I'm familiar with, threats to me, that is.

I relax my posture some. "The Spiker's still after me."  
They both exchange a look. "How did you figure that out, sweetheart?"  
"It wasn't that hard, believe me. So what we dealing with? Demon? Vampire? Umpir? Skinchanger? Jefferson Starship?" I laugh at that last one—it was mine; I named it.  
"Look sweetheart, we want you to know it's important you let Uncle Bobby handle it and he will, you're going to be all right."  
Daddy was consoling me? That's a laugh—he really looks to need the consoling right now, not me, even Papa notices. "C'mere Baby," Papa says to Daddy and opens his arms for him. "I'll tell Dean the rest."  
Daddy nods and heads to Papa's arms. It's even affecting me a bit, I don’t like to see the big man this upset. I look to Papa with concerned eyes. "It's nothing any of us have to worry about. Bobby is on the case."

"Does he know what it is?" I ask again, 'cause that would really fucking help.  
Papa's carding his hand through Daddy's hair to soothe him; I'm starting to get a bit frustrated. It's clear he doesn't want to tell me because of all this 'Dean should have a childhood bullshit,' when what they should be doing is telling me everything they know because I'm the most experienced Hunter between the three of us. Fact: I'm the only Hunter between the three of us.  
"Look, Papa. I can help."  
"Cas…" Daddy says. I'm not sure what that means, but his tone implies he absolutely does not want me having any part of this hunt—and it's different than with the spider. Papa wouldn't overrule him this.  
"Don't worry Baby, I'm handling it." Papa looks at me. "I'm sorry Dean we can't let you help. Not with this. Uncle Bobby says it's extremely dangerous."

"I wasn't stupid enough to think I'd be able to participate in the hunt," I say kind of peeved. "I meant, there are things we can do around here, precautions…"  
"Cas…" Daddy says again and apparently that one word means a lot of things that are all code for: Tell Dean he's not doing anything to do with hunting.

"I know, Baby. Dean, no. We don't want you worrying about anything. If Uncle Bobby wants us to do something he'll tell us to and _we'll_ do it."

I adore them both, but I really want to punch them in their faces right now. I'm frustrated and Papa can tell.

"I know this is hard for you Kiddo; thank-you for not throwing a fit; I can see that you're mad."  
Mad is an understatement. The only thing keeping me calm right now is Daddy—he's really freaking out. I want to go to him, but I'm not sure if I should. If it freaks him out though, (the thought of me doing anything 'hunter-like') I'll shut-up, for now.

"But now for the good news."  
There's good news?  
"We have something of yours. We weren't sure how, or when to give this to you. We've had it awhile now, since the first night you were ours. The adoption place had it and put it into our care."

I'm worried about Daddy a little. I know Papa's about to say something I'll like, but I can only look at Daddy.

"Daddy's fine, Kiddo. You want to give him a cuddle before you see what we have for you?"  
I nod. He releases his hold on Daddy and Daddy opens his arms for me.  
"Daddy will be fine. I'm sorry, Pumpkin. I… This has been stressful. Daddy worries about you."  
I let him pick me up and I wrap my legs around him. I actually cuddle into the crook of his neck. Shut up. I'm doing this for him. Jerks.

"How about we show Dean what we have for him? Hmmmm?" Daddy says referring to me in third person, like you would a little kid. And you know what, I don't care. Whatever makes the large man happy, I'll let him do and anyone that has anything to say about it, can answer to me.

Papa punches in a code on the wall and the electronic door opens. I can't fucking believe my eyes. I scramble down Daddy and approach her slow. I run my hand along her smooth black paint and look her over for damages, much the way Papa does Daddy and I.

"You found, m'Baby!" Okay, that doesn't sound nearly as cool as when I usually say it, since it lacks its usual growl, but it works.

"We sure did, Sugarbug. They asked Papa what he wanted done with your car when we were signing the papers to make you ours. We didn't know if you'd care or not, but on a whim, we thought it best to let you decide. We didn’t know how little you'd get, so we kept her safe, here for you. But now that we know where you'll age from, we thought we'd show you we have her. You can do whatever you want, well except drive her 'till you're of age. But you can work on her, wash her…"

Daddy keeps saying things, but I'm no longer listening. I'm staring in wonder at Baby. Here she is. I have to touch her all over to make sure she's not a figment of my imagination. She's perfect, not a scratch on her. I gotta see her insides though. The door's open, I climb inside. She's more like I remember her when I was a kid—everything's about three sizes bigger than when I last hopped inside of her. I think this is where I'm sleeping tonight; this is where I'm doing everything.

Speaking of everything, I'll bet a million that they don't know about the 'secret' compartment in the trunk… And much as I care about these two kick-ass men, well they wouldn’t understand it anyway and I really, really don't want them confiscating my stuff. I feel just a little safer knowing I've got back up.

I'm about to lie back, maybe I'll take a before dinner nap, reacquaint myself with her when I hear Daddy say: Uncle Bobby.

"Huh? Uncle Bobby? What about Uncle Bobby?"  
"Just that he said you'd appreciate knowing your car's here…"  
Wait a minute… "This a distract Dean from the hunt thing, isn't it?"  
"Yeah," Daddy winces. "Is it working?" He's leaning in the driver's side window; Papa gets in the passenger side and slips in with me.

I look at them each in turn; I picture Dad driving her… I want all three of them to be part of her. My dad was hard on me, but he loved me, he gave me one kind of childhood, one he didn't have much choice in giving me; I'd like to try another kind of childhood with these two goofs and I think Dad would like that too. They'll give me what he wanted for me. I'm a lucky kid.

"Yeah. It's working. This is totally where I'm sleeping tonight, though."  
"Not if I have anything to say about it Dean Winchester."  
"Oh c'mon… I don't get to do anything fun," I pout.  
"Well, tell you what Kiddo. I have to have a private chat with your Daddy. While I do that, I'll have Neufeld just around the corner there for you and you can stay here with your car. You can sleep in her now if you want, _whatever_ you want."  
"Cas I don't think we should leave him—"  
But Papa's already out of the Impala. "Come Sam."  
"But… Cassy…"  
"Now, Sam. Let's go."

I look between the two of them like I've never seen them before, 'cause I've fucking missed something. I mean, I sensed something was, different, with their relationship, but I've never seen anything that solidified it for me, but that had. Cas really is, 'in charge.'

I must look a bit worried because Daddy says, "I'm going to be okay, promise. Everything Papa and I do is sanctioned by me, okay?"  
I nod. "Okay." He plants a kiss on my forehead.  
Daddy moves quickly after that, but still looks to Papa for direction. Papa nods toward the house. "We'll call you for dinner, Kiddo. Enjoy your car."

~SDC~

I spend a long time with her and I do fall asleep in the front seat, since I'm short enough to now. The sun is starting to turn orange, but it's still coming into the garage and through the window. I don't think I've ever laid this peacefully and just focused on the in and out of my breath.

Just as I'm thinking I'd like to at least start her up, I see Daddy coming to get me.  
"You ready for dinner, Dean Bean?"  
I want to ask him what Papa talked to him about, but I feel like that information is super personal, so I don't. He can see it on my face though.  
"I told you not to worry, didn't I?" He says softly.

"You can worry about me, but I can't worry about you?"

"Not when it comes to between Papa and I—you never have to worry about that. You got it, Pumpkin?"

I look him over and he looks fine—better actually. None of the freak-out type worry is there, just the regular constant, Mother-henning type he's usually got.  
"Got it. Hey can we eat in Baby? Let's get burgers and fries and milkshakes. It'll be fun."  
"Absolutely," he says, but before I can get too excited he adds, "but not tonight."  
"How about we come back out here after dinner and tell ghost stories? I've got some good ones…"  
He's opening the door. "Out."  
"Is that a maybe? 'Cause it sounds like a maybe."  
"You're going to bed shortly after dinner, Mr. Winchester."  
Yeah, another part about being this age that sucked. Suddenly I have a much earlier bedtime. Daddy claimed he noticed me getting tired earlier and from there on, he judged my bedtime by what I did that day.  
"I just slept for at least an hour," I complain, but I get out.

I regret when I have to lock her up for the night, but I promise her I'll be back.

~SDC~

"Dean, as much as we didn't want to have to ask you to do this, we need you."  
That's what Papa says to me after dinner and I try not to act too excited when I say, "Giddy up! What you need?"  
"Holy Water. But that's it, Dean. Bobby specified that."  
"He didn't tell you to do anything else?"  
"No."  
Oh. That didn't sound good, 'cause I already have…

"Okay. One batch of Holy water coming right up." I have the idea of just running up and grabbing my pre-made batch, but Daddy requests to 'see' it being done. They're both really fucking impressed with my skills, I feel like old Dean again as I do the incantation, even if my voice is that of a pip-squeak.  
We portion it out into bottles.

"All right, it's bath time Mister," Daddy says, ruining my Dean parade.  
"But not bedtime right? I'm not even close to tired."  
"We'll see after your bath, you might be," Papa says.

Yeah. I know what 'we'll see means.' It mean they don't want to fight with Dean but they want me upstairs where it's easier to coax me to bed, but I'm not going without a promise.  
"I slept for like two hours in the Impala. I can stay up for a bit after having a bath, right?" No, I haven't forgotten I told Daddy one hour. It's called 'exaggerating' and I'm good at it. I have to make sure Papa knows I had a nap, just in case Daddy didn't tell him, maybe he'll feel differently than Daddy… this one time.  
Papa does look to Daddy; things are looking good for Dean, but in this, I'm not smarter than Daddy. "He wasn't even out there for two hours, Cas. Stop trying to wheedle out of bedtime Dean. After your bath, you're climbing into bed. You can read for a bit _if_ you're not tired."  
I've got my mouth open, about to complain to Papa about that ruling, but he beats me to it. "Daddy has spoken, Kiddo."

"Come on. This is so not fair, I'm not a little kid," I say all the while knowing I'm acting like one. And I haven't moved by the way. I'm still sitting on the sofa, where I parked my ass after saying that ridiculously long Holy Water incantation.  
Daddy's up though and he's not impressed with a one Dean Winchester. "We're not fighting about bedtime every night. Come Sur." He holds his hand out to me. I take it, but I'm mad.  
"You're certainly acting like a tired little boy," Daddy says.  
"I'll be up to say goodnight, Kiddo," Papa says, but I can tell he's laughing at me. He thinks Daddy's and my antics are funny.

Daddy strips me off as the bathwater runs; he's put bubbles in there for me this time. "Step in Sugarbug." He's already forgiven me for being such a brat; Daddy forgives me easily, but I'm still irked.  
"You going to stay mad at Daddy, huh Pumpkin Butter?" He says as he pours water through my hair.  
"Well, it's too early. You never take what I say into account."  
"Oh really? Never?" He says all nice. It's hard to be mad at him when he's so damn nice.

And when I think about it, he actually does listen to me a lot, just not when it comes to my well-being—he makes those decisions for me, end of story.  
"Okay. Not never. But it's still too early tonight. I wanted to play with my car."  
"There'll be lots of time for that, Pumpkin. You need your sleep. I thought you wanted to grow up big and strong so you could hunt monsters?"  
"Didn't sleep much the first time and I was pretty big and strong."  
"What if you could grow up bigger and stronger this time?"  
Now there's a thought. Maybe…

Daddy lathers soap in my hair. Rinses. And moves onto washing my body. He does it with such love and care, it actually starts to make me a little sleepy…  
I wake with a start. Daddy's smiling at me as he's lifting me out of the bath. "Not tired, huh?"  
"What did you lace that bath with?"  
"Nothing, I swear, sweetheart. You're just tired."  
"How do you know? How can you always know?" He does. It's completely fucking annoying, but he anticipates my needs before I know I need anything.

I've got the towel wrapped around my shoulders now, he's crouched to my height; he ruffles my wet hair. "Because sweetheart, Daddy just loves you so much. So damn much, I… I can feel you. I know you, as if I've always known you."

My eyes pop wide for two reasons; Daddy just swore, well for him anyway (I don't really consider 'damn' a swear word) and he, like, _never_ swears. I'm serious, the guy says fiddlesticks and fudge butter. The second is of course; he just told me he loves me. How can he love me so soon?

"B-but, how can you know you love me? You don't even know me."  
"I know enough," he says like always and kisses my forehead.

I'm too shell-shocked to say anything all through him dressing me and even when I'm safe in bed, I'm still thinking, "Daddy loves me." And I'm smiling.

Papa comes in while Daddy's tucking me in, in time to hear Daddy say again, "I love you, sweetheart. Sleep tight, okay? Don't let the bed bugs bite."  
"Bed bugs can't get me. I'm the spider Hunter, remember?"  
"That's right, he is," Papa pipes in. "And hey! How come you get to tell Dean you love him first? I love Dean too." He tickles my belly and I laugh.  
"Don't rile him, Cassy," Daddy says gently.  
And suddenly I've got to tell them too. Not because I feel pressured into it, but because I know it like Daddy said. The feeling I can see in their faces, I feel it too and I suddenly know, but I think I kinda knew all along—it's the same reason I let them do all their babying shit to me. You know? Not for me; for them. Okay, get ready for more bro melodrama; cue the sappy-ass music.  
"I'm so glad, I'm your kid. I am." And because I know I'll get away with it just this once, "I fucking love you both, so much it's stupid. I don’t even know how it happened. But, son of a bitch, I do."


	7. Meet Sam Winchester

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another change is on the horizon. Dean's confronted by an old enemy.

They finish tucking me in, and I get away with murder in the form of I didn't even get told off for saying fuck, or bitch, because they were just too damn happy. The extent of it was this:  
The two staring at me dumbfounded. Me saying the wise-cracking comment of, "what? Daddy swore too!" Them both shaking their heads and smiling all goofy-like at each other grateful for the day I was born. Huh. Parents. They're strange.  
They're each kissing me on the head with "Goodnight Deans" when one of the men in black knocks on the door.  
"Sorry, sirs. It's urgent a Bobby Singer and a Rufus Turner want to be let onto the premises."  
"Yes, admit them right away please," Papa says.

All sleep left me the moment the dude came in and when I heard Bobby's name, I was all ears. Of course I suspect my parents are going to send me to bed without getting to hear why they're here unannounced.

I want to hug Papa when he says, "tell the boys to send Bobby and Rufus upstairs to Dean's room."  
"Cas…"  
"I know Baby, but you know our boy; he'll just follow—we'd have to tie him down and I'm not willing to do that, are you?"  
"No." But he does clutch me to him. Tight.  
Rufus and Bobby trample in, but Rufus is first and I can tell by the way his eyes twinkle when he sees me and my current 'condition,' he wants to make fun.  
"Don't you dare Rufus! Shut your piehole!"  
"Dean Winchester! Apologize."  
"No way."  
Rufus is laughing hysterically, in that goofy laugh of his. "You even sound—"  
"Don't say it." I try to tune down the 'tude. Daddy is worried _and_ I'm pissing him off. I'm sure his worry for what Rufus and Bobby are going to say is the only thing between me and a spanking right now.

He's still laughing like a hyena several minutes later and there's no threat that can make me want to stop from pummeling him. "That's it." I lunge at him from the bed; Daddy stops me.

"Dean," Daddy says low and cut. So I settle for scowling at Rufus.  
"Well would ya look at him? He's a cute lil' ankle biter, isn't he?"  
Yeah, I'll show him cute…  
But thankfully before I can do anything else, Bobby comes to my rescue, well, not my rescue so much as he wants to get done whatever he came to get done. He whacks Rufus upside the head. "Quit pesterin' him, ya idgit. Hey kid, you shrunk again."

"Yeah. When you take up stating the obvious _'Uncle Bobby?'_ " I say in air quotes.

"Look, we don't got time for this. You make the holy water?"  
"Yep," I say.  
"Got some here Bobby," Papa says taking some from his pocket. It's one of the smaller vials.  
"I hope ya got more than that."  
Bolstered by Bobby and Rufus being here, I make the mistake of revealing my secret super soaker of holy water. "Got some more here too."

I squirm off the bed to retrieve my 'gun' and when I come up, I almost think to shoot Daddy with it, because he's got the eyes of a demon right now. He's mad. Madder than I've seen him, _ever._

He opens his arm for me to come back to them, but it's not 'please come here Pumpkin Butter,' it's, 'come here, now young man.' And in case I hadn't read him right, he leans down to whisper in my ear, "you are in a world of trouble, Sur."

I blush and hope no one else heard. But Daddy's trouble I can worry about later. This is something that needs to be taken care of, now.

"It's Crowley, Dean," Bobby tells me.  
"Crowley? What does that second rate crossroads demon want?"  
"Not second rate—King of Hell."  
"King of—" I don't say it with Daddy looking at me like that. "When did he become King?"  
"Yep, he's King all right. Can't tell you when, but recent enough and he's got plans for you."  
"What's he want with me?"  
"Not sure, but we want to make sure we don't find out," Bobby tells me.

"Dam—darn it." I think 'darn it' is Daddyceptable.  
"We're gonna get this place demon blocked, but we've gotta move quick. We've got reason to believe he's coming tonight… Woulda got here sooner, but you know how it can be with Vamps."  
"How'd you find out about this?" I ask.  
"It involved a Vampire and my largest machete. Ganked him anyway."  
I know what that means.  
"They were working with Crowley—" he looks to my parents, "on something else."  
Yeah. A something else I'm no longer privy to.  
"What do we do Bobby?" Papa asks. "We'll do whatever we need to do to. I have men that can help."  
Oh sure, now that there's no spiders, Papa's willing to chip in…  
"Okay. That'll be helpful—this place is bigger than Grant's tomb," Bobby says.  
"Right. Where do we start?" I ask, giddy with pre-hunt excitement.  
The adults share a look, one of those 'we've already talked about this and know what's up, but how do we break it to Dean,' looks.  
I save them the trouble of explaining. "Seriously? I don't get to help?"  
"It's passed your bedtime, Sugarbug."  
"Even if it wasn't, you wouldn't let me, which is totally stupid if you want my opinion."  
"I thank-you for your opinion. Now get under the covers please."  
Knowing when I'm out numbered, I get under the covers, Papa reaches for my super soaker, but I'm shocked to _hell_ when it's Daddy who says, "we should leave that with Dean, shouldn't we Bobby?"

Bobby agrees. "We really should. He needs something, just in case."  
"What happened to, 'you're in a world of trouble Dean Winchester?'" I say in my best Daddy voice not caring who hears.  
"Oh? Is that what I sound like?" He says poking me in the belly.  
"You do a little," Papa pipes up. He likes my jokes, 'specially when I'm teasing Daddy.  
"Could we move this little Family Ties episode along, folks?" That's Rufus this time.  
"Daddy worries about you, sweetheart, maybe too much. If there's something after you and there's anything you can have that might protect you, I want you to have it. Papa and I don't know much about Hunters, but I'm realizing we have a Hunter boy; we love you just as you are. I still want you to have a childhood, but maybe there are some things you just won't be able to separate from."  
Papa nods his agreement.  
"Besides, if having these things makes you feel safe… well I want you to feel safe, end of story."

"Thanks Daddy. Thanks Papa," I say with a squeeze for each of them.  
"But you make sure to call us if you need anything," Papa says.  
"Even if it's just a cuddle," Daddy adds, which I know means Daddy would like a cuddle later and probably Papa too. Rufus thinks it's on my behalf of course, so he laughs and I send him a little stink-eye.  
"Sorry kid. It looks too cute when you do that for it to have any effect."

After that they're gone, but I can't sleep now knowing Crowley's after me and I'm basically here with a kid's toy, in Buzz Light Year underwear (Daddy wanted to get them for me—I couldn't bring myself to tell him no) and Batman pajamas (okay, I _might_ have picked _those_ out. I liked what Daddy said about hunters being like Batman).

This fucking blows.

But since there's nothing I can do, I hug my 'gun' closer and close my eyes and think about what I'll do with Baby tomorrow—'cause I _need_ to think of something else, or I'll go crazy.

Maybe I can convince Papa to take us for a cruise…

"Hello, Dean."  
"Crowley."  
"Miss me?"  
"Oh yeah. Wrote a fucking ballad about it."  
"Now, now. You wouldn't want Daddy to wash that dirty little mouth out, would you?"  
"Shut up Crowley. What do you want?"  
"I want you out of the way for a little while."  
"What? Why don't you just kill me?"

"Kill you? I don't want—is that what you thought?"  
It seemed obvious, but when you're dealing with a psychopathic, megalomaniac like Crowley you just never know.

"I do owe you an apology then. I don't want you dead Dean. Just out of the way for a while. You've put quite the hole in my business, I just want to recover the economy."  
"Start making sense now, Crowley."  
"I'd be bored without you okay? You entertain me."  
"I'm not a walking circus Crowley, and I'm not exactly happy with you for doing this to me—I'm going to kill you."

"You're so bloody adorable like that you know? It's a good look for you."  
"Okay fine, so you want me out of the way for a few years, you got your wish, why the hell you here now?"

That's when he shows me the syringe. It's a big ass needle, filled with clear, orange liquid, I'll bet I can guess what it's filled with.  
"I'm here to complete the transformation—I was interrupted last time and by the way this brand is a Crowley special; the re-aging's going to take… a while."  
"What do you mean by that?"

"Was I not speaking English? Humans age a little everyday, every minute in fact. You'll be lucky to age a year in two. Not quite sure, never tested it on anyone."

While that sucked right now; later that would be awesome, that means I'll live longer; I wonder if he's really thought this through. "You sick son of a bitch—that's fine, I'll just have more time to plan what I'm going to do with you when I'm grown."  
"I'll look forward to the challenge. All right, come over here little termite and hold out your arm."

Right. As if I'm going to make it that easy for him… but it gives me an idea—he's awfully close to that Devil's trap I drew. If I could just catch him… _then_ I'll call for backup. They think I can't do anything; I wanna show them I can at least do that much.

"C'mon. Don't be frightened, little boy," he coaxes. "Not to worry, there's not enough in here to send you back to teething. See how nice I am? Maybe diapers though. I think you'll look cute in them."  
Right. I'll make sure to tell the papers. I don't say anything smart though; this could be my only opportunity to get him anywhere close to my Devil's Trap. "I'm not your fucking lap dog, I'll meet you half way." I'm sure he knows what's in the gun, but he doesn't seem afraid of it; that worries me a bit, but I don't let it show.

"Why? So you can catch me in this?" He rips the posters off my wall, revealing the glowing Devil's trap.  
"Yeah. Asshole—what the? How come it's not working?" I can't hide my disappointment.  
He walks in front of it then past it just to prove a point. "Okay, I get it Crowley. Why is my Devil's trap not affecting you?"  
"I have to tell you everything, don't I? How old were you when you learned to make a Devil's Trap, Dean?"  
Balls. "Twenty-five. But I don't get it, I remember it—that's what they look like, I know. I've drawn them a million times."  
"You think you do, Dean. That's the thing about Modlenol. You become a kid and you don't even realize it yourself until you wake up a kid one day. You forget things. Not big things, but details, enough to forget to draw this _exactly_ correct and as you know that's the only kind that holds me and the rest of my minions."  
Okay. I've fucked up a bit. He got me on that one; guess I should have figured on that one, but there's something he doesn't know.

"Then it's a good thing my dad taught me how to make holy water when I was six!" I shower him with a blast from my super soaker, my aim still kicks ass, but he's fast and I only get him in the side of the face.  
"That hurt you little shit!" He's on the other side of the room now, and damn if I haven't pissed him off. I'm about to let loose another blast, and run out of the room to get Bobby and Rufus (I'm starting to wish I'd called them earlier) and hope like hell they have a certain knife on them, but I feel my feet leave the ground.

With a swipe of his hand, Crowley has me pinned to the wall; my super soaker crashes to the floor; I can't move.

"I'd say goodbye, but this is more of a so long, Dean… _Winchester._ " He jams the needle into my neck, I scream. Dean's… out.

~SDC~

I get there just in time to see the round faced little man smiling at me; my baby boy is on the floor with a needle jammed into his neck. "Get away from him!"  
I run into the room, not caring what happens to me, I've got to get to my baby, but I'm slammed against the wall and held there by an invisible force. Rufus, Bobby and Cas are all behind me; Bobby's brandishing a gleaming, narrow bladed, knife.

I can't move on the wall, I'm struggling, the little man says to me, "congratulations. It's a boy."

Then he's gone.

Bobby stabs air. "Balls!"

Cas is already to our boy as I fall from the wall and I join him. He's taking the needle out of his neck. "What is it, Cas?" My voice is laced with worry and dread. If he killed my baby… I don't know what I'll do.

"Here, he's still breathing, help me get him on the bed, Baby."  
I do watching his chest move up and down—I want to see that breath; know he's still alive. For now I can thank God he is.

Bobby and Rufus behind us. "We're going to finish securing the place. We'll finish telling you what you need to do after you take care a him."  
"Thanks, gentlemen," Cas says.

And we're alone with our Dean.

I've already got tears in my eyes. I can't help it. Methodically I strip him down to his Buzz Lightyear underwear, which just makes my eyes cloud further with tears. I know he let me buy those for him. Dean was always doing little things like that for me.

I begin checking him over everywhere as Cas looks over the syringe. There's not a scratch on Dean, so other than being unconscious, he looks all right. I can sigh some relief, for now, that he's alive.

"I think it's Modlenol, Baby."  
"Modlennol? Why?"  
"Because of this." I watch him peel a sticky note off the syringe. _'To the proud new parents. Dean'll be fine, but you may want to invest in some diapers. King of Hell.'_  
That I can handle, but I don't know that Dean can.  
"How do we know for sure? How do we know he's not lying?"  
"We don't, Baby. I'll see if I can find a doctor to pay us a house call. It won't be Dr. Bremmer, but at least we'll know."  
I knew Cas would find someone. Not only does the right amount of money 'find' people, but there's always someone that seems to owe Cas a favor.  
Our doctor is back Monday, just a day away, but we need someone now.  
"I'll send Bobby up here, he can make sure it's not anything… Supernatural."

Dean suddenly starts to convulse. "Quick, Cas. Get Bobby, the doctor, somebody!"  
I'm lost. If he was just sick, I'd know exactly what to do, but this could be Supernatural woo-hoo—there's nothing to tell me I'm not losing him.  
I lay Dean on his side in case he pukes and wrap around him, so he can't hurt himself. I don't know if he can hear me and I don't care; I coo things at him, tell him it's going to be all right; Daddy and Papa will take care of him.

Bobby and Cas are back, while Rufus continues Demon-proofing. Dean's jarred movements finally settle; he's breathing hard.  
"I'll check him over Sam," Bobby says.  
"H-how?" I feel a tear drop from my chin.  
"Maybe it's best you step aside."  
"There's no way in heck, I'm leaving him, Bobby." I do move enough for him to get at Dean, but that's it.  
"Okay. But you're not gonna like some of what I do."  
When he opens a bottle of what I assume to be Holy Water, I'm worried, but I trust him. Won't that stuff hurt him?  
"Only if he's a demon," Bobby answers my unasked question.  
Ahhh.  
Then it's salt and I've got the picture by now, but when Bobby pulls out a knife and asks to cut my baby…  
"No, fudging way!"  
"Did he just say fudging?" Bobby asks Cas. Cas steps in; calm, cool and very Cas.  
"Bobby, why do you need to cut Dean?"  
"This knife's made of silver, I just need to make a small cut, make sure he's not been turned into something."  
"Sam, we need to let him," Cas says in a voice that might appear to others like he's making a suggestion, but I know better. He's telling me to back off. I bite my lip, but nod at Bobby—if Cas thinks he'll be okay then so do I.

I watch, but only because I feel I should—if Dean's getting cut, I'm living the injury with him, thankfully, I'm pretty sure _he_ won't feel it.

Blood, my baby boy's blood, slowly seeps out of the small cut Bobby makes with the knife.

"Nope. He's good, well, dependin' on what your definition of good is. It ain't Supernatural that's for sure."  
My heart sighs. "Thanks Bobby. I'm sorry I freaked out."  
"Naw. I'm glad to see it. Glad to see our Dean is in good hands. You care about that boy."  
I nod.  
"We do," Cas says.  
"Why don't you take care of our boy there, then, Rufus and I will give you a Hunter's crash course, there's going to be some things you'll need to know, just in case."  
I look to Cas, we both look severely at each other and give resolute nods.

Bobby leaves. Cas stays. I begin removing Dean's underwear. He's not going to like it, but in case it is the Modlenol, I'm putting a diaper on him. He may have found the diaper mortifying, but I know he found the knowledge of him wetting the bed, far worse. I can at least save him one dignity.

"How you holding up, Baby?"  
"Fine." I say. I'm angry. I want to kill that… that slimy man who hurt my Dean.  
"Oh no you don't. I'm not going to let you shut down, Sam. Talk."  
"I have to get him changed Cas."  
"Talk and get him changed at the same time." Again, not a suggestion. I sigh.  
"I want to kill the Bastard."  
"It's a good thing Dean's not awake to hear you say that," he teases.  
It's not funny for me and he knows it. I don't like not having any control over this situation and I tell him so.

When Dean's all set in his pajamas, I cozy him up under the covers. Cas comes up behind me and pulls me into his arms. "I'm sorry, Baby. I wasn't making fun, just trying to lighten the mood—I know how you get. I hate seeing you this way, and since we can't—"

"I'm sorry. You're right, I'm freaking out."  
"I didn't say that."  
"No, but it was implied and I am, and it's not going to help Dean. Did you get hold of a doctor?"  
"Does a bear shit in the woods?"  
"I'll bet Dean would love to hear the story about how I washed his papa's mouth out with soap while he was asleep."  
He smiles, happy I'm back, rather than complain that I used a curse word, but he can't.  
"Doctor's on her way."  
It's my turn to smile, huge. I squeeze him. "How do you always do that?"  
"You wouldn't believe me if I told you this one."  
"A demon just stuck our son with a syringe; try me."  
"Remember that cat I saved from the tree a couple months back?"

Only my husband still saves cats from trees.

"It was this doctor lady's?"  
"Yep. She told me I was her guardian angel… or her cat's I guess in this case, and gave me her card. I told her I was married and she laughed, said it wasn't for that; said if I need a favor, anytime, anywhere, call."

I shake my head. Stuff like this was always happening with Cas. He always seemed to be walking or driving by at the right time, usually when someone was in trouble. He's saved baby buggies, kids from being hit by cars, women from being mugged _and_ men… you name it.

"Wow, can't believe that lady happens to be a doctor."  
"Told you, you wouldn't believe me."  
I smile at him again, but this time it's a goofy smile, the one that makes Dean pretend to wretch.  
"I'm surprised you tucked him in," Cas says gently.  
"Why's that?"  
"Are you really going to leave him alone in here?"  
"Absolutely not. He's not leaving my sight until he's thirty-five."  
Cas laughs. "Poor Dean. Problem is there's not really room in here for three, and I don't really want either of you out of my sight, so I was thinking—"  
"Our bed?"  
"Yeah."  
"Perfect."


	8. Dean Winchester: Brat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So basically Dean's a brat. He has a lot of trouble adjusting to being 'young.'

"Cas…" A hushed voice shouts. "Cassy… he's waking up."  
I know that voice, but I can't see anything. I bring fists to my eyes, to rub and I almost fucking flip out when I feel how small those fists are. If I thought I was small before that doesn't compare to now.

Both parents are standing over me, we're in my room, the light coming in from the sun behind them suggests it's mid-morning.

When I see them, something comes over me and I want to cry. God damn it. _I want to cry._ I can't even help it. My lip pushes out in to a pout, tears well in my eyes and I reach my arms up at them.

I can tell they both want to grab me, but Papa lets Daddy do it, first knowing how happy it will make him. I'm surprised when I'm scooped up easily. It's never been hard for Daddy to pick me up, but I feel lighter in his arms. What. The. Fuck. Is. Going. On?

That's what I want to say, Daddy can soap my mouth all he wants—and I would say it too, if I could just stop fucking crying. But the emotions over what I'm pretty damn sure has happened is overwhelming me and I can't say shit.

"It's okay, pumpkin. Daddy's here. Shhh…" He's cooing me and bouncing me and he continues to, until I pull it the fuck together.  
"Sweet Lord, you're adorable Dean," Daddy says nuzzling into me when I stop crying.  
"Not," sniff, "adorable." At least I can still talk. But I sound so _little._  
Now I remember. That Asshat Crowley modified me again. I will find a way to end him.  
"You are, Kiddo. Sorry, but… you should see yourself," Papa says.  
If they both think it so much they can't stand but to say it… "How much did I shrwink?" Oh Jesus… did I just? Yep. I fucking lisped. I push my head into Daddy's neck, completely embarrassed.  
"Oh baby boy, it's okay. You going to come back out so we can tell you?"

I do peak my head out and vow not to talk for the rest of the day.  
They exchange a look and Daddy says, "the doctor puts you at about four, or five—"  
"Four or five?" Okay, so my vow doesn't last long.  
"But Dean… there's still Modlenol in your system and—"  
"I'm going to get smaller?" Thank God I didn't lisp any of those words.  
"You are," Papa tells it to me straight.

Unexplainable tears well up into my eyes again. Is this going to happen every time my emotions get too much for me?  
Daddy wipes them away. "Here, go give Papa a cuddle, Pumpkin Butter."  
I reach for Papa.  
Papa and Daddy love me the same amount; I know, but there's something very different in the _way_ they love me and in the comforts they give. Daddy is nurturing; he's a cozy, comfortable kind of safety that Papa just… isn't.

But with Papa, I get a different kind of safety. It's the solid, protective kind. Right away I feel calmed; steadied. Papa's reserve is grounding. "Do you have any idea how happy this has made your daddy?" He whispers in my ear, obviously having caught on to how much I like to make Daddy happy.

"Cas!" Daddy complains whacking Papa.  
"It's true."  
Daddy can't deny it. "I don't want Dean thinking I didn't love him before. If you would have stayed the age you were, I would have loved you just the same, sweetheart… but I can't lie—I do really like you like this baby boy," he explains like he's embarrassed about it.

I climb across and make my way back to his arms. "S'okay, Daddy." I hug him around his neck.

~SDC~

I'm surprised when it's all uphill from there.  
First, that lisp? Very small. So there are some words I say with added w's, but not many.  
As it turns out, I'm now Daddy's Achilles heel. He _cannot_ say no to me. It's fucking awesome, but I'm pretty sure Papa's not too pleased with it. He hasn't said anything yet, but I have a feeling it's coming.

I had been in and out of consciousness for three days this time, but don't remember any of it. Apparently they had bottle fed me in between these bouts of semi-consciousness. When they told me that, boy was I glad I didn't remember.

And thankfully I didn't need the diaper that Daddy had put on me… after I woke up that is. I don't even want to think of why I needed it while I was out, but neither parent thought I needed it full-time, _yet_ they said, which concerned me a little.

Did that mean they thought I would need them eventually?

Bobby and Rufus had to leave while I was out, so I missed their visit. Bobby I was sad about not spending time with, Rufus not so much. Before they left, they'd helped Daddy and Papa by teaching them a bit of 'Hunter needs to know,' in case Crowley came back. I hadn't been awake to tell them what Crowley told me about not wanting to kill me; but I know I can't really trust that either. The whole thing sounds sketchy to me. It's best to be on our guard.

It's been two days though and nothing. The last time the changes seemed to happen pretty quick, but with Crowley's 'new special blend' who the hell knows? I try not to think about when I might change, but both Daddy and Papa think it's important I'm prepped for it since there isn't much further to go, but back into the beginnings of human development, which they think would be toughest for me.

At least now I can talk, walk, run (cause trouble Papa usually adds to that list) and am somewhat independent, though Daddy keeps a pretty close eye on me.

And in the mean time, he's been reading up on Moddler development; things like what kinds of changes we might expect and probably (though he didn't tell me this) how he should respond. He's read at least three books in two days, so I've got to entertain myself sometimes. I'm currently climbing all around the living room, up and over Daddy on the couch, down then up the recliner, over the coffee table then back up the couch again.

Daddy doesn't seem to mind, even when I trample over him.

"C'mon Sugarbug, we should clean this mess up. Papa's going to be home soon—I think he'll kill us both if he sees the state of it."  
I'm not sure why he cares, except that Daddy tends to take care of the house, even though we have tons of housekeeping staff. Something about "it's disrespectful to make a needless mess just because you know someone else is taking care of it." But isn't that what Daddy and Papa pay them for? Besides, I _really_ didn't feel like cleaning. I kinda got this car (not that I like kids toys or anything, but it was a lot like the Impala, so I couldn’t see how that counted as a 'toy.') and right now I was on a hunt. A Wendeigo was sighted up passed the couch.

"Yeah. In a minute Daddy."

  


"Dean…" It's his warning tone, but I know just what to do about that. I turn my little face up to him. 

  


"Can you come closer to me for a minute please, Daddy?"  
He knows I'm up to something, but he slides closer to me anyway to sit beside where I'm standing on the couch. His face just below mine now, I grab his cheeks and smoosh them together. "I can have another couple of minutes, huh Daddy?"  
"You want more minutes? I just gave you a whole 'nother half hour Dean Bean."  
"Please, Sammy." I squish his cheeks together like they're talking to make them say, "okay Dean Bean, five more minutes."

Then I add: "M'hunting, Daddy."  
"Are there more bad guys in the house, pumpkin?"  
"Not for long."  
"All right, five more minutes, then we get ready for dinner and Papa."

I know it's _so_ not fair to him. As it turns out, _I am_ pretty fucking adorable. My face is one of those cutesy cherub sorta ones, complete with dimples when I smile—I should totally be on one of those Lego commercials. And I still have pretty cool hair. Don't know what the rhyme or reason to the different hair thing is. I'm assuming that maybe my hair was like this when I really was a kid? I can't remember everything from that time. Especially when I was five and under, so who the hell knows? All I know is now it's a bit long on top and a whole lot blonder than it usually is.

Daddy says my eyes seem bigger and my eyelashes longer—they're what make him melt.

"Hello family, I'm home earl—what the hell happened to this place? Dean, why are you climbing all over the furniture? I thought we had a chat just last night about that," Papa says, coming in the door way too early. Daddy looks a bit nervous.

We did have a chat about it, but Daddy wasn't enforcing it so much when Papa wasn't home. Daddy wasn't enforcing a lot of the rules he had for me before, except ones that involved eating and sleeping. Those were pretty non-negotiable, but we were still battling over this whole 'naptime' thing Daddy kept trying to implement.

I would tell him that I _knew_ for a fact most four and five year olds didn't nap, but I got the same reply, I always did when I tried to compare myself to other kids: "I only care about what's best for my little boy; and you're tired Pumpkin Butter."

"We were just getting ready to clean up for dinner, Cassy. Weren't we Dean Bean?"

I don't get the chance to answer, because Papa says, "I think someone has Daddy wrapped around his finger and gets away with murder." It was one of those statements that was a bit to himself, but he wanted the two of us to take note of.

Daddy is frozen and biting his lower lip. "I'm sorry Cas, I… he calls me Sammy and does this thing; it's really cute. I'd like to see you resist it."

I'm sort of still playing with my car, 'cause I finally found the Wendiego and I'm lighting it up, but right now doesn't feel like the right time to ignore Papa. I look up, his arms are crossed—yeah things don't look so good.

I run across the couch and jump into Daddy's arms to protect both of us from Papa's eyes—they look like his spanking eyes. I think he wants to spank Daddy.

Papa's face softens. "Awww, Kiddo. C'mere. Papa didn't mean to scare you."

Wait. Me scared? Never. "I'm not scared," I say offended.  
Daddy stands and passes me off to Papa and goes to begin cleaning up _my_ mess.

"You're not? You sure?"

I nod and scowl at him, insulted he would even think so. "Was protecting Daddy."  
I can hear Daddy laugh from behind us. Papa smiles. "Protecting Daddy from big bad, Papa?"  
"I thought you were going to spank him," I say seriously.  
Daddy laughs harder.

"I think you should worry about your own little butt if I catch you climbing on the furniture again Dean Daniel."  
I give him a look that would have melted Daddy and say, "I didn't mean to. I was hunting, Papa."  
I can tell he thinks he should continue scolding me, but even he can't resist me. "Yeah? What were you hunting?"  
"Wendeigo."  
"Did you get him?"  
"'Course I did. I'm Dean Winchester."  
Papa rolls his eyes at me. "Okay, Dean Winchester. Go help your Daddy clean up. I'm going to go ask Bobby if he's got an object that can spare us from your cuteness."

That might have upset me a couple days ago, but since I've realized what kind of power it's given me, I just smile.

Papa puts me down and I run to help Daddy.

~SDC~

I know when our stupidly adorable little Devil is in bed, Cas is going to talk to me and I can't help the little bundle of nerves that begin to tingle low in my belly. 

I'm not afraid of Cas like it might sound; I _hate_ disappointing him in any way.

"You ready for bed, Baby?"  
"Yeah, Cas. Just going to check in on Dean one more time."  
He laughs. "Because the last four times weren't enough?"  
I give him a Dean-worthy scowl. "A Demon stabbed him in the neck with a needle a few nights ago," I remind him, he knows to back off.

"Sorry Mama Bear."  
I regard him coolly, but leave him in favor on checking my little monster. I only crack the door open and I don't hear it making a sound, but he noticeably flinches; thankfully he doesn't wake up. It's been hard to get him to sleep at night and I know even when he does finally fall asleep it's restless… _my poor babe._

I try to get him to make up his sleep with a nap during the day—if it's hard to get him to sleep at night; it's impossible during the day.

Since the run in with the devil, Dean's not been sleeping well. I know in part, he's worried about us, even though he shouldn't be; we're his parents; parents are supposed to be the worried ones.

I look at his tense little body and want to run in and scoop him up and take him into our bed with us. But I know he'd much rather come to us; I know exactly where he's going to end up at about three am tonight. It will feel much more like he's _just protecting_ us.

But there is a little more to it now than there might have been before. He's not _just_ protecting us. Dean doesn't realize how much he's changed. Modlenol doesn't just change a person physically, it regresses them. He's much _younger_ now than he was when he first arrived. I don't hide it from him, but I also don't want to throw it in his face. He'll realize soon enough; I think he has some as it is.

It takes time because it's confusing when he still remembers his other life. 'When you remember that you _were_ an adult, it's hard to reconcile that you _aren't_ an adult, even if your body physically cannot meet the same demands placed on it before and even if it's slowly regressing," I'd read. And I've been watching Dean long enough to know these things are true.

"C'mon Baby. You know he'll be in our bed in a few hours anyway."  
I sigh. "I know, but Cas, he's so vulnerable right now."  
"He's going to be more vulnerable."  
That was the truth of it and why I want Dean in with us, but Dean refuses to begin the night in our bed, despite him running, tear streaming, down the hallway to our bedroom in the middle of the night.

Cas leads me to our bedroom. "Go get ready for bed Baby then we need to talk."  
I expected that, but the nerves reignite and I feel anxious.

Cas is sitting at the edge of our bed and I know what that means. "Cas… please. I know I haven't been parenting Dean properly—"

"Stop right there, Baby. We're not even going down that road. You're a great parent to Dean. Your parenting skills have nothing to do with why I'm going to spank you right now."

"Oh! Fine," I say having a bit of a mini-tantrum.

Cas and I have been together a long time, long enough for me to know what it's expected I do. I remove my robe—because I'm not likely to be sleeping with pajamas; Cas I and almost never sleep in pajamas—and put myself over his lap.

He smoothes a hand over my back and down to my bottom.

He doesn't talk yet, but begins applying a good dose of his hand to each cheek, enough I've already lost my breathe a couple times. Tears prick my eyes.

Then he's rubbing the abused flesh, gently. "The Sam Winchester I know would have put his little boy on the naughty step for less than much of his behavior over the last few days."

He spanks me for a good couple of minutes, enough that I have to ask him for a small reprieve, "please, Cassy."

"You're okay," he says as he rubs my buttocks again, indulging me. "I know you're worried about him, Baby, but you've got to relax. If I have to do this every night before bed to relax you; get you out of your head, I will."

He lays a fresh batch of fire to my poor bottom. I have to wince and clench my cheeks; kicking a bit to move some of the sting around. Then stops again to rub. 

"He's well on his way to becoming a Holy Terror and you know it. You let him call you Sammy?" He's laughing.

"It really is the cutest thing," I defend. "You should see it."  
"Somehow I feel like I'm not likely to. He knows better than to do that around me," Cas says with a smile in his voice.

"I know, Cas. He's turned into a rock of Daddy kryptonite because he's so gosh darn cute."  
"Dean's always been 'gosh darn cute,' that never stopped you from punishing him before," Cas points out. "That can't be the only thing going on."

He's still rubbing my stinging cheeks and I want up, but I know we're not done yet. Cas prefers to have these conversations with me over his lap… so he'll have my attention the _whole_ time. My mind tends to wander to self-effacing thoughts otherwise, but over his knee he can bring me back real fast.

"I'm sorry Cas… I just want to indulge him. He's so small and he's going through a rough time."

"Aha! Now we're getting somewhere. And is that really going to help him in the end?"  
"No," I pout. I know it won't. "But I thought just until he modifies again—"  
"That he could disregard all the rules of our house?"  
"Well not alllll the rules…"  
He begins spanking me again for that comment. I know better than that. "Ow. Okay, okay. It might as well be all the rules."

"That's right." He stops again giving me another break. "You've got to enforce the rules Baby; I know you know that."  
"I know Cas, I just feel so guilty. I should have been there to protect him; he's always having to protect us."  
"There it is. Should you be letting your guilt over this affect how you parent Dean?"  
"No, sir."  
"Okay, so we do agree you should be getting this spanking, which is why again?"

This is always the part of the spanking I hate the most. Where I have to take responsibility for the thing that's been niggling away at me. Cas always knows exactly why he's spanking me, from the get go, but I never figure it out 'till three quarters of the way through.

I take a deep breathe, tears trying to stream down my face, but falling to the floor and say, "I'm letting Dean get away with murder, because I feel responsible for what's happened to him; that I failed him."

"Does Dean think any of those things?"  
I want to say yes, because that's what I think sometimes, but a better part of me knows it's not the truth. "No."  
"Right. And were you responsible for what happened to Dean?"  
I shake my head. "No."  
"Good. Hold those thoughts."  
He spanks in earnest now, the last part of a spanking from Cas is the worst, though the whole thing is a pretty terrible experience. The pain of it is one thing, but having to talk, bottom up over my husband's lap, with nowhere to go and nothing to hide behind, is more awful than the physical pain. That being said, the physical pain isn't much fun either; it's a good reminder for me.

Cas and I have done this almost since we got together.

His family has always been strict and traditional. One person was in charge; someone ran things as the head of the household.

It so happened that in his family it had been his Dad, but it wasn't a gender thing. I had always known this about the Winchester's before I became one.

Cas knew it was something that he would want, only he wanted to take it a step further; he wanted a stricter punishment element; stricter than his parents had. You're going to think I'm nuts, but I readily agreed.

Not only did I love and trust Cas enough to take care of me, I crave the discipline and structure he provides, despite how it may look sometimes. I think it's part human nature to fight licks you know you have coming to you—it's hard to stand up and be accountable.

I do have rules I follow. Not necessarily when it comes to Dean. Cas absolutely refused to punish me, or make rules of how I should parent Dean and I was glad for it.

I know right now is different. This is about me. About my guilt. He's not punishing me for letting Dean get away with murder, especially because he's been known to do it a time or two as well, it's the _reason_ I've been letting him do as he pleases. He wants me to let go of that before it consumes me and Lord help me this has always been the way. Works like magic.  
I'm not being punished for breaking a rule. I'm being spanked for emotional release.

Finally he's done and he pulls me up into his arms, arranging us on the bed, so I can cry into his arms as he holds me and cards fingers through my long hair.

When I'm all cried out, I feel _much_ better.  
"You good now, Baby?"  
I nod. "Thanks, Cassy. I feel much better."  
"I'm glad," he says wiping my tears with his thumb. "I won't allow you to let your guilt consume you.  
I bite my lip smiling and share with him, the thought that's making me smile: "I still stand behind that some of the reason he can weasel me into doing what he wants, is him being so fricken cute."  
"That he is, Baby and the problem is, he knows it. You've been getting _so_ played!" He's laughing out loud.  
"I can't wait to see how you do—you're alone with him tomorrow evening, or have you forgotten?"  
"Right. Beers with your Stanford friends."  
Cas and I do almost everything together, but every now and again, we do our own thing—it's good for a couple. My Stanford friends and Cas never really bonded. They all like each other well enough, but they just don't like to have the 'same kind of fun.'

We all have kids now, them having had kids well before Cas and I got Dean, so our pub nights were few and far between of late anyway, but this one had been planned for awhile now.

"Maybe I should cancel?"  
"Oh, I don't think so, Sam Winchester. You're going. I order you."  
"You can't order me to hang out with my friends."  
"I can if I think it's good for your well being—has it been that long since I've punished you for rule breaking? You forget our rules?"

It actually had been a long time since I'd been _punished_ for breaking any rules, since I'm pretty careful to follow them. I like having rules and I like following them. Discipline is to help me and I very much understand that. But I have had a few of these kinds of spankings; ones to help me deal with overwhelming emotions. Especially lately. 

"I remember, Cassy. I'll go—I just worry about him."

"Welcome to fatherhood, Baby. You'll still worry about him every bit as much when he's forty. The worry of a parent never ends."

He sits up over top do me, bringing his head down into my neck. "You need some lotion, Baby? How is it?" He's already beginning to nibble my neck. I moan.  
"I'm okay for now… mmmm… maybe… later…"  
"Good, 'cause I want you."  
Spanking me has always turned Cas on something fierce… and me too. It's the reason our relationship led us into the BDSM realm for some of our time together. We don't go clubbing anymore, but we scene on occasion, when he thinks it will help me and because it's fun.

But tonight, we're Cas and Sam. Cas is my solid, dominant man and I'm his happily submissive man—that's just us.

Cas is really heating up now, his nibbles become gentle bites, careful not to mark me anywhere Dean can see. No kid wants evidence that their parents have sex, even if they know it's true.

Besides, Cas'll bite me in other places Dean can't see to make up for that.

My arms are suddenly slammed over my head and I let them go lax knowing Cas wants to own me, I submit to tell him I'm his.

"God I'm going to fuck you so hard, Baby," he says holding my hands by the wrists in his one hand as he uses the other to pull down his pajama bottoms; his large cock springs out.

No matter how many times I've seen it, its girth impresses me. Cas isn't the tallest or the largest man on the planet, but God gave him this amazing cock.

"You're going to suck me like a good boy, first though."  
I lick my lips. I'd love to suck him, but he's got to put his cock closer to me, since I can't move.  
He rubs the head across my lips using his free hand and I stick my tongue out to wet it and taste the pre-cum leaking from his engorged member. He sinks the tip in a little then pulls it out, then in again until I'm begging for it. "Please Cas…"

He sinks his cock into my mouth and begins to pump it in and out as I suck and writhe a little as my own cock begins to weep.  
"That's right, Baby. Get it good and wet."  
I do swirling my tongue around the head then the shaft and sucking to pull him into me as he keeps me pinned in place.

When he finally enters me I'm a wreck of arousal and I'm begging him to slam into me and take me hard. My knees are pushed wide, my feet in the air, his balls slap oh so good against my sensitive bottom cheeks.  
We both orgasm like it's the last orgasm we'll have and when we're done, Cas falls to the side of me both of us panting. "Sweet baby Jesus I needed that Cassy—all of it. Thank-you. I don't know what I'd do without you."  
He moves the hair from my eyes and sits up to press a sweet kiss to my lips. "You'll never have to find out."

~SDC~

I lean over to check the clock. Yep. Three o'clock on the button and the sound of small footfalls.

Knowing what to expect, since it's the third night of this, Cas and I had cleaned up from our lovemaking and decided on pajama pants for bed to save us having to get up to do it when we received our now nightly visitor.

The first night he'd knocked, though I still have no idea why since when he'd come to us before he'd practically barged in. I've told him since he doesn't have to do that and to just come in rather than have him stand crying outside our door 'till we admit him.

The door squeaks open. "Daddy? Papa?" I can hear the pain in his voice and he's sniffling, so I know he's crying.  
"We're here Dean Bean. C'mon up and snuggle with us," I say in a voice that comes out more croaky than I'd aimed for.

He runs and jumps, hopping up onto the large bed and landing in the center where he crawls up to complete his journey to the middle of us.

Cas sits up, rubbing his eyes. "Did you have a bad dream, Kiddo?"  
Dean shakes his head. "No. I thought… I didn't know if…"  
He's a bit disoriented, probably still partially groggy with sleep.  
"We're here. Come to Papa," Cas says folding the little boy's head into his chest. "Papa didn’t know anything about demons before, but Uncle Bobby taught me what I need to know and I'm not going to let anymore Demons in here to hurt you or Daddy."  
The door's left open and the light from the hallway light we leave on for Dean, leaks in. I can see Dean nod his head into his Papa's chest.

"And Dean's going to grow up big and strong to help Papa. Isn't that what you said?"  
"Yes," Dean says with a sniffle.  
"Okay, good. It's settled then. There's nothing to worry about, okay Angel?" Cas decides with Dean  
I love watching Cas take care of our boy; it makes my heart want to burst.  
"Okay, Papa. But I think I better stay here, just in case."  
I know Cas can hear the plea just as I can.  
"Of course. You're going to sleep right here between Daddy and Papa."  
I rub his back as Cas strokes his hair and Dean trembles. He can't help his responses anymore. His body has become a little boy's and responds to his emotions accordingly. It's only his memories of 'big Dean' that make him fight it at all. Most moddlers have made the choice to become a moddler, so they let their old self go and succumb to their inner child. Dean didn't choose this, so it's harder. Cas and I do our best to help him get there.

It takes us an hour of soothing him with our voices and touches, but we finally get him to sleep. I don't know if we can take all the credit though, I think it's more because his little body has passed out from exhaustion.

"Don't go back there, Sam Winchester." Cas whispers in the darkness and above Dean's head. "I can spank you again in the morning if you think there's any residual guilt over what happened."

"I'm sorry, Cas. It's just… I can't help but think we should have listened to Dean in the first place. If only we'd done that. Salt the doors, the windows, Demon proof everything like he wanted…"

"Maybe we should have listened to Dean, and maybe this would have happened anyway. How were we to know the spiker was a demon? And when we did, we complied with everything Bobby told us to do without hesitation. We did the best we could, Baby, all we can do is learn from this. Feeling guilty will not help."

"I know Cas I… I know."

"I love you, Sam. Please try to get some sleep. I have a feeling our little munchkin's going to be a handful tomorrow."

~SDC~

So today I've spent a considerable amount of time getting acquainted with 'the naughty step.' It's the third time I've been sent to this dreadful spot today. Imagine my dismay when I learned that Daddy thought this was a better punishment for 'little' boys than the corner, which was for 'bigger' boys.

He said I could sit down at least.

I just feel humiliated as the different members of the house staff walk by me while I sit like an idiot on the steps. Doesn't Daddy know this is a fire hazard?

Yeah, there's no way in hell I'm saying that to him by the way. He's about an inch away from spanking me, but thankfully I'm cute and he wants to put that off unless I'm a true little jack-ass (my words not his).

"Are you ready to come off the naughty step, Mr. Winchester?"

Am I ready to come off? I was never ready to _go on._ I know what that really means: Are you going to behave yourself Dean Winchester?

"Yes, Daddy," I say dutifully. I'll say anything to get off this stupid staircase and I guess I'll try not to be such a brat, but I'm _bored_ and Daddy's preoccupied.

He's been sewing my old tattoo onto to various pieces of my clothing, like Bobby told him to, but he's super slow at it. I told him he should just get someone else to do it for him, so he can play with me, but for some dumb reason, it's important _he_ does it.  
It's a project he said will be ongoing, since I'm going to need more for the size clothes I modify into, but he figures I'll need these clothes again someday anyway and "it's not a waste Dean Winchester."

Yeah, I've been talking back to him and pestering him all morning, one of the three reasons I've be sent to the step of ultimate boredom.

"Okay. Your imprisonment is over. Why don't you come lie down next to Daddy and have a snooze? Your little body must be tired, Sugarbug."  
And so it begins.

"Not tired, Daddy."  
"You're acting tired."  
If you asked me, Daddy was the one who was tired and grouchy today, but no one was. Asking me that is.

And if it seems like I'm tired, it's because Daddy's annoying the hell out of me. Though maybe I do feel slightly less agreeable, but that's nothing to do with sleep, I'm sure of it.

I draw my eyebrows together at his comment, but don't say anything, I don't want to go back to the naughty step. Daddy laughs at me, probably thinking I'm cute.

"C'mon baby boy. It won't kill you. Daddy and Papa have snoozes in the middle of the day all the time. It's not just a little boy thing."  
"I don't want a snooze, Daddy."

I can tell he's annoyed, but he keeps his voice calm. "Okay, bug, but I think you might regret that later. It's just you and Papa tonight and if you're cranky for him, you know where you'll spend the majority of your time."  
Naughty step. Yeah. I know. I'll be fine though.  
"Why do you have to go, out?"  
"Because Daddy hasn't seen his friends in a long time, sweetheart."  
Right away I can tell he feels guilty about it, so I back off. I don't like seeing Daddy get upset that way, no matter how much he's annoying me right now.

"Ow! Fiddlesticks!" He cries, then puts his finger in his mouth. Daddy's been pricking himself with needles all afternoon as he attempts to sew the little symbol that will stop demonic possession into one of my shirts. They'd had the symbol made into a patch and ordered a whole shwhack of them. They just came today, so Daddy got right to work.  
"You aren't so good at that, huh Daddy?"  
He smiles wryly. "No. Daddy's terrible at sewing. But it's okay Dean Bean, I'll get better with some practice. If you refuse to sleep, why don't you color a picture for me, huh? Do something quiet and restful at least."

Daddy knows I do not color pictures. I fold my arms across my chest, holding onto my little elbows. "No way. How about a movie?"  
"You've already watched a movie this morning, baby boy. You've got to find something to occupy yourself with other than T.V. And much as Daddy would like to play with you all the time, you've got to find things to do on your own."

"Which is why I wanted to play in my car earlier."

We'd got into a full on fight about that one. I wanted to go out to my car on my own. He said he'd take me, but that I'd have to wait for him. I thought it was stupid that I couldn’t even go out to my own car alone.

He gives me a dark look. "We are not arguing about that again, Sur."  
"Well, all you'll let me do is kid stuff."  
"You are a kid. You've got to try to find some kid stuff you like, Sugar."  
I groan. This argument I lose every time, so I quit while I'm ahead. "How long 'till you're finished with that?"  
He winces and looks at the clock. "Maybe another thirty minutes?"  
Thirty minutes? Man does he suck at that. One 'kid-thing' that's definitely come back is that time has suddenly expanded into forever. Thirty minutes seems like an eternity away.

"That's forever!"  
"Sorry, Dean Bean. This is important, Daddy wants you to have at least of couple of these shirts to wear. Fudge!" He pricks himself again and I shake my head.  
"You're silly, Daddy."

Normally he would laugh at my teasing him and tease me back, but he's grouchy (as I've already explained) annoyed with his sewing abilities and annoyed with me. He gives me a 'careful, you're on thin ice' look, and keeps his voice low when he says: "You have five minutes to find something quiet to do besides pester Daddy, or Daddy will find something for you to do that I guarantee you won't like."

I scowl, but say, "all right. All right."  
I pull out some paper and pencil crayons. It seems I no longer have the dexterity for writing well, I mean, I can write my name and a few other things, but the letters are all big and take up the whole page, so it's pointless. I decide on drawing pictures for Papa and _not Daddy._

I'm only half-way through my sweet rendition of what I'd like to do to Crowley; when my eyes begin drooping and damn it if I'm not completely bagged. He always knows. Always. But I can't let him be right. I'm too pissed off. So I fight it and though all my little body wants to do is curl up beside him and pass out, I won't, no matter what.

I won't fall asleep.

~SDC~

"He was a very stubborn little boy today and wouldn't go to sleep, he's going to be cranky."  
I was never so relieved to see my husband as I am in this moment.  
I was exhausted today, but I _had_ to get at least two shirts done for Dean: a daytime shirt and a pajama shirt. My fingers almost didn't survive.

And Dean was exhausted too.

If I didn't have to sew patches onto shirts, I would have dragged us both up for a much needed nap, but there was no way I was letting someone else sew those patches on. It's cathartic for me; makes me feel like I'm doing something to keep my baby boy safe.

"I'll put him to bed early tonight."  
"See if you can convince him to sleep in our bed—we all need the sleep."  
"Already on it, Baby. Have a good time; don't worry about us."

Dean was watching another movie after much debate, tears, and tired complaining. My poor boy was so exhausted, we'd both decided a little extra screen time on a day like today was warranted.

"I will, just going to go say bye to him."  
I walk into the living room, where I see my baby sitting, his eyelids are droopy, a scowl on his face as he watches the screen indifferently. He was at that overtired point where even giving him what he wanted, didn't result in him being happy about it.

"Hey, bug. Can Daddy have a kiss goodbye?"  
The look he's got written all over his face says he doesn't want me to go, but he decides to act very 'Dean' about it. It's kinda cute on the little boy and my heart melts like always.  
"Sure, Daddy." He holds his arms out; too tired to come to me, so I scoop him up and plant a million kisses on his face 'till he's laughing.  
"Stop it, Daddy!" He's barely got the energy for goofing around I know, but I'm making extra sure he'll be out like a light for Cas… and I can't resist kissing his sweet face before I have to leave him for a few hours.

He's been like my little bear cub since he got here. It was going to be weird to be away from him, even just for the night. I wasn't going to get to bathe him, or get him ready for bed, or tuck him in…

"Okay, Baby. We'll see you later. Say goodnight to your Daddy, Kiddo." That's Cas cutting off the thoughts he can see etched on my face. We've known each other long enough, we can practically read each other's minds. He knows I'm thinking about cancelling. Again.

"Night, Daddy. Love you. Sowry I was a brat today."  
He must have been feeling really bad to use a 'lisping' word. Dean stays away from those, but he knows how much I love hearing them. Totally, fudging adorable.  
"Not a brat, well, maybe a little, but it was just tiredness. Daddy knows. Don't worry about it anymore. I love you too, Pumpkin Butter."  
With a final kiss to my baby and another for my husband, I'm finally out the door.

~SDC~

"Okay, Kiddo. Bath time."  
Papa's tone is so different from Daddy's. It somehow leaves no room for argument; I scrunch my nose at him not liking that.

I know. I've just made up with Daddy, but already you can see how this night's going to go despite my good intentions.

I'd really pushed it through dinner to the point I thought for sure I was going to get spanked by one of them, but instead they'd let me watch a movie. Then I felt bad. The whole time I watched the movie, I thought about how awful I'd been all day and now Daddy was going away. I didn't want him to think about his bratty little boy at home while being away from me, in case he would decide he liked being without me better.

But now that Papa was _demanding_ I go have my bath—well it rubbed me the wrong fucking way. Trouble is on the horizon. Get ready for some good old-fashioned Dean stubbornness.

"Daddy gives me baths."  
"He does, but he's not here tonight, so you'll have to settle for me." Again with that unbreakable, sort of steel in his voice. Part of me is scared to out right refuse him, but part of me wants to see what would happen if I do.

"No way. No baths without Daddy."  
"Okay, that's fine, Kiddo."  
What? That's it? Where's the catch?  
I'm suddenly picked up and sat without any pomp and circumstance on, yeah, you guessed it: The naughty step. When I realize it I start to protest.  
"No! I don't want the naughty step."  
"Does that mean you're ready for bath time?"  
"No."  
"Okay. You tell me when you're ready and Papa will come right back to get you."  
"No!" It's the third time I've said the word, each time well aware of how much both Daddy and Papa like that word. Which is not at all by the way.  
Papa comes down so his forehead is flush with mine: "Dean. You aren't being a good listener right now and you need some thinking time. When you're ready to do as you're told, we'll go have your bath, understood?"  
"Yeah," I brat at him pulling my head away. Today sucks.

But I decide I'll rot on this step before I go have a bath now. At least that was my plan, but the boredom sets in quick and I get antsy. Stupid kid brain.

"Papa?" I call. "I'm ready for my bath now."  
He returns quickly. "Glad to hear it, Kiddo." He doesn't even seem mad or annoyed. That irritates me. Shouldn't my misbehaviour get some kind of rise? It doesn't seem fair. Papa's always this way though, unless he's working. It's the only time he really loses his cool.

He doesn't give me the option of walking up the stairs and picks me up, which is loads easier for him now that I'm so little, and I'm unloaded when we get to my bathroom. I'm still pouting as he sits me on the counter; I'll let him bath me, but it doesn’t mean I'm going to roll over and make it easy for him.

"This isn't where Daddy undresses me."  
"It isn't? Where does he undress you?" He says even though he'd already moved away from me and is running the bath water.  
"He stands me on the stool by the toilet, so I pee first. Then undresses me there."  
"Okay, makes sense." Somehow that's not the reaction I thought I was going to get, so I pout further even though Papa's doing exactly what I told him to do.

Papa places me on the stool and pulls down my pants and He-man underwear (those were totally my pick and I'm proud of them). "Go pee then, Dean."

I do, pissed off the whole time with no idea why.

When I'm done, he helps me remove my clothes so I'm completely naked and lifts me into the bath as I pick up my feet and splash them into the water when he puts me in effectively getting him all wet.  
"Dean!"

There that's more like the reaction I was looking for. He looks mad, but he still keeps cool and asks, "do you think that was very nice?"  
His low gravely voice has the power to make me feel extremely guilty with just that one sentence, than if he'd spanked me. I can’t look him in the eyes when I say, "Sowry, Papa."  
"Forgiven, little boy," he says, 'cause not even Papa can resist my little lisped words. I just can't seem to get my fucking lips to wrap around certain words, but if it's going to work in my favor…

After that I notice, "there's no bubblebath in here. Daddy always puts bubbles."  
"I'm sorry, Kiddo. It's too late for bubbles. Next time I'll remember."

That's not good enough of course, I want fucking bubbles.  
"I don't want a bath without bubbles," I say angrily.

"Clearly you're beyond tired, so this is just going to be a quick wash anyway, now behave yourself before you wind up with a bedtime spanking."

Hmmmm… Maybe not such a good idea to take Papa on. He's a lot stricter than Daddy and a lot faster to hand out spankings—especially when his voice gets chilly like that. I decide not to talk to him for the rest of the bath. Nothing is right with bath time and he won't listen.

He washes my hair and body very fast and is already telling me it's time to get out before I feel like I've even been in the bath. Of course now I don't want to get out of the bath I never wanted in the first place.

"But Daddy let's me play for a bit." Yeah I have bath toys now—shut-up.  
"I understand, but we're not playing tonight. You're going to bed now, Dean." He says it like a statement of fact; no arguing; no negotiating. It makes me more frustrated.  
"Bed? I don't want to go to bed." Now there are tears and I can't even help it. It's something that happens without me wanting it to. When I get emotionally overwrought, I cry; like a little kid.

"I know, Kiddo. But you'll feel better. Tomorrow will be a better day." Before I realize what's happening I'm lifted out and surrounded with a warm, fluffy towel. At least he gets that part right.  
"I want Daddy," I say, quiet tears leaking down my cheeks. He'll get me out of this… well probably not, but I figure it's a good way to let him know my displeasure.

"And you'll get him, he'll be back very soon."

"I want to stay up an'… an' wait for him," I demand sniffling at the end of my tears.

Papa picks me up, not paying any mind to my demands. We head to my room, but he doesn't put me down on my bed like Daddy usually does; instead, he goes about grabbing fresh underwear and pajamas with me still in his arms. Daddy always asks me which ones I want, so I decide just to tell him.

"I don't want those clothes. I want the blue pajamas and batman underwear."

"I'd love to help you out Kiddo, but little boys who are rude to their Papa's don't get to pick their pajamas."

"Well, I'm not wearing those."

"Okay. It's time for a chat." He puts his face close to mine again. "Dean Winchester, I'm being very lenient with you because I know you're tired, but you are being extremely disrespectful and you know how I feel about that."

I did. I did very much, but tonight I was having a hard time caring.

"This is your last warning."

I shut up about the stupid pajamas, but when I see where he's taking me I… well I flip out.

"I'm not sleeping in the big bed tonight. No way! Let me go!"  
As soon as he sets me down on the bed, I wriggle off and am running, naked, streaking toward the door since my towel's fallen off.  
But Papa's quick as lightening. "Okay," he says, grabbing me easily. I try to wriggle away again, but he spanks the side of my leg; I freeze immediately.

"That hurt!" I complain.

But I'm turned over Papa's knee pretty quick after that and he begins what ends up being one hell of a spanking—at least I think so. Before long I'm sobbing and apologizing and promising to be a good little boy.

Papa doesn't relent until he's finished making his point. He lays about two-dozen solid smacks down on my ass before he pulls me up into his arms and rocks and shushes me. Once my sniffles die down he tells me, "Papa really didn't want to do that, but you're being extremely naughty Dean."

"I'm s-sorwy, Papa," I say still sniffing a bit.  
"I know, Angel. It's been a hard day, but you're going to have a little sleepover with Daddy and I—I was hoping you could stay here and protect us tonight you see," he says as he stands me on the bed and helps me into a pair of dinosaur pajamas and clean Spiderman underwear.

"Protect you?"  
"Yeah. What do you say?"  
I nod slow and yawn. My eyes are having a tough time staying open—that spanking really finished me off. Maybe Papa and Daddy are right; I just don't have the stamina I used to; my kid body gets tired faster. I feel heavy all over.

"Awwww, look at you Kiddo. No wonder Daddy has such a hard time saying no to you." He runs a hand through my hair and I reach for him, my little body not able to hold itself up any longer.

He picks me up easily and sets me on his left hip; my head falls to rest in the crook of his neck; he opens the covers and gently places me inside. When my head hits the pillow, Dean's… out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so what's the deal with Cas and Sam?
> 
> So hopefully you were able to begin to _see_ as the story progressed. I don't want to label their relationship too much, but essentially they are a Domestic Discipline couple and are very far into their relationship as this kind of couple... in other words they're very familiar with how their particular relationship works. 
> 
> They do have _some_ dom/sub aspects that still exist in their relationship; it's part of how they were formed, so threads are still there. As Sam mentioned, they 'play' sometimes (though they haven't since bringing Dean home) but Cas hasn't really been a true 'Sir' to Sam for a while. There was a time when he was. If ever I have enough time, I'd love to write a short little prequel about these two since their relationship has been very interesting (at least to me).
> 
> Cas is very much the captain of the Winchester ship, so to speak, so he makes all final decisions, but as you can see they still work as a team when it comes to Dean, except in some special cases ;-) 
> 
> I hope that answers the questions. At the end of the day, have fun with it and I hope it entertains you!


	9. Sam and Cas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean undergoes his final transformation, so he's out cold. Now we hear from the daddies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I'm super nervous to post this. I feel like something is missing; if I ever figure out what that is, I'll edit it, but for now... I hope you enjoy.
> 
> And yes, I did twist human biochemistry to my own devices. I am a science major in real life, so I'm not completely "dumb" when it comes to sciency stuff, but as we all know, sadly, Modlenol is not real, so I used real things on an abstract level... maybe it's believable, maybe it's not. For you to decide. Hope it doesn't take any super science ppl out of the story too much. In any case, hoping some Sastiel sex will make up for it. 
> 
> Thank-you, again for all the love last chapter. You guys at the best! 
> 
> xoxo

My friends and I have gotten old. We now spend our pub time shooting darts over a couple pints and showing off pictures of our kids and I can't bring myself to care. A goofy smile spreads on my face as I think about coming home to my little family.

I can't help but be a little jealous when I walk in our bedroom (I'd checked Dean's room immediately of course, but he wasn't there) and see them cuddling in the bed without me, but my jealously is short lived since seeing the two of them cuddled up like that is the cutest fudging thing you've ever seen.

I'm quiet as I can so I don't wake Dean, or Cas up, but unfortunately both my boys sleep as soundly as guard dogs; thankfully, one of my boys is truly out for the count tonight and only Cas stirs. "Hey Baby," he whispers.  
I make a quick trip to the bathroom to brush my teeth, pee and undress then I quietly slip into pajama pants once I return to the bedroom.

"How'd it go?" I ask as I'm slipping in with them.

"You were right—he is too cute, he got away with a lot, well, for me, but it didn't save him a spanking."  
I smile and stifle my laugh. "Poor boy."  
"He was a brat, you should have heard him. But he's so cute I had to hold myself back from laughing.

"Oh, I know," I whisper and roll my eyes. There is no shortage of Dean antics that will have your heart turned to butter while he happily manipulates you into what he wants. I'm well aware Dean's other life was spent concocting elaborate cons.

"Sam, I don't want to alarm you, but our boy's burning up. He's had a fever the past hour or so."  
Damn Modlenol.

From what I've read, it has the unfortunate side effect of making your body's immune system think it's fighting some kind of bacterial infection, so the fever's you get are crazy and scary because there's nothing that truly brings them down until your body is finished reacting with Modlenol.

My knowledge on the exact how's of Modlenol are limited. But from what I've read, I know that the reaction has a building effect, meaning enough of it has to react with enough of your body's cells before the big change will happen.

Two reactions take place. The first breaks into the person's cells and enzymes are created and reacted with; particular gene 'switches' turn off and others on. Enough of this has to happen for a hormone, I forget the name of, to begin secretion by the brain, and when it reaches critical mass, the second reaction is triggered.

When it reaches this 'tipping point,' it can potentially alert your body to a 'disturbance in the force.' Your body's natural micro-flora go crazy. Some grow and some die. This creates opportunity for opportunistic pathogens that already live on your body to proliferate and your body begins to fight them with fever. Your body never actually gets 'sick' from these bugs; your body just 'thinks' it's sick. Still the fever is dangerous since much of your body's biochemistry does not work optimally at higher temperatures.

Killing these 'bugs' to lower the fever is a bad idea. Your body will continue responding this way until there are no bugs left of any kind. Without any bugs, the human can die.

The doctor says it's best just to let Dean's body struggle with the fever until the reactions are complete, which can take anywhere from four hours to, in one case (though not with Dean yet thankfully), sixteen days. Modlenol acts differently, from one body to another.

We do need to cool him off though—again doctor's orders—and monitor him closely.

Modlenol can be dangerous and it's not without side effects in every case. But most people making the decision to do this are tested and are able to discover if and how they might react.

Not Dean.

We never know what it's going to do to him. We've been pretty lucky so far. And need I mention Crowley again? We couldn’t exactly tell the doctor the Spiker was a demon, but we did express our concern over not knowing 'what brand' of Modlenol he'd been spiked with. Unfortunately, the doctor said there was no way to know. We just had to pray.

If we can go by past experiences, I know he'll most likely be okay, but it doesn't stop my heart racing.

There's no way I'll be getting any sleep tonight.

"Why didn't you call me?" The Mama bear inside me, the one I always get teased about by the both of them, is irked.

"There wasn't anything you could do that I wasn't already doing. I knew you'd be home soon, Baby…"

No way. Uh-uh. That doesn't fly with me.

"When my baby gets sick, you call me Castiel Winchester." I'm yell whispering, but he knows I'm pissed.

"Yes, Ma'am."

I flip open the covers. "Give him here, I'm going to take care of him in his room, so you can get some sleep, Sugar."  
Now that I know it's a Modlenol induced spell he's under, I'm confident I can move Dean around without him waking up. But he will be awake periodically throughout the night, if it's like the more recent time he'd changed and Cas has work in the morning.

Cas plants a kiss to his crown and hands him off to me and I sling him onto my chest. His body is limp as a sack of potatoes. I notice he's wearing his dinosaur pajamas—he hates those.  
"How did you get him to wear these?"  
"He did have a minor conniption…"  
"I bet he did." Dean has nothing against dinosaurs per say, but he says that these particular dinosaurs are 'goofy' and 'not-real' and an 'insult to real dinosaurs.' He _refuses_ to wear this particular pair.

Poor Dean didn't stand a chance, I bet. Papa is very persuasive.

"You sure you don't want help?"  
"No, Cassy. Sleep. We'll see you in the morning."

~SDC~

It's a long night.

I don't mind a bit though. Dean wakes up several times crying and disoriented, but not like before. He's more confused than as if he'd been jarred awake from a regular sleep and he's sweating.

I still talk to him when he's like this. Sometimes he responds and sometimes he doesn't; he _won't_ remember any of it, but I know it still makes his insides feel better.

"Awww… it hurts, doesn't it baby boy?"  
"Yeah…" His eyelids flutter half-open.  
"I'm sorry, Pumpkin Butter." I've got us cuddled up in his bed, which is still the larger bed we've had for him since he got here. He didn't want a 'kid' bed and didn't think he needed one.

Part of me wondered if it might help his mindset to have a 'kid's' bed and Cas agreed that it probably would, but that for now it was more convenient to leave the big bed, so we could take care of him on nights like this.

"Here, let's turn you around, Daddy will scratch your back." I sit him up for a sec and remove his pajama top, tossing it into the hamper just across the room. I begin lightly scraping my nails all around his back. My Nan used to do this with me when I was sick; it feels so good, I get Cas to do it to me sometimes. I also return the favor of course.

Dean likes it too and readily complies. I scratch his back, drawing smooth pictures and letters until I know he's drifted off again. Then I get up.

My first trip is downstairs to make a bottle of half juice, half water. Cas and I only drink fresh juice of course. We have the kitchen staff make a little extra to keep on hand. And we've got a little apple-carrot by the looks of it.

Next, I stop to get a cool washcloth from his bathroom. He's still out when I'm back, but he's restless and it looks like he's already moved a couple of times. _And_ he's changed some already.

The changes happen slow when you're watching them, kind of like that old adage about the pot. You know? A watched pot doesn't boil. If you keep your eyes on him, it doesn't look like he's changed at all, but when you look away for long enough, you notice the bubbles of difference.

It's in his face. His cheeks are even more cherub than they were and his hair is less straight, like maybe it's going to be wavy or have curls. _Oh Dean. You're getting even sweeter, baby._

I press the cool cloth on his forehead for a bit and down his naked belly since he's lying on his back now. I'm too paranoid to go to sleep, so instead of crawling back in with him, I cozy the covers around him and grab the housecoat I keep in Dean's room to cover my own naked torso. I slip on a pair of slippers (also an item I keep in Dean's room).

I pull out my 'anti-demon possession patch project' and sit in the reading chair by his bed and work on them for a few hours. I get four done and my fingers feel like pincushions must. Dean's right. I 'suck' at this.

I put my project aside when Dean stirs, "Daaadeee…" he moans and sits up, but it's clear he's not really awake. It's that eerie, sleep-walking, type sitting up. I grab him up, his pajama pants are looser; Cas doesn't have a diaper on him.

My mind takes stock of all the Mama Bear type inventory, as I bring him over to the chair with me and pick up the bottle of juice as I go. I shake it up and sit down with him. "Here, have a little drink, sweetheart."  
He doesn't say anything, but latches onto the bottle with both his mouth and hands. He could hold it himself, I know, but I hold it from the bottom anyway, holding it _with_ him.

He's watching me with eyes that don't really see me; his mouth works the nipple of the bottle and I sing him song's my mama used to sing to me.

Then he's asleep again; I put him back in his bed, but before I cozy him up, I decide to put a diaper on him. I have to muffle my laugh when I see his Papa put him in Spiderman underwear. Dean's not a Spiderman fan. When I asked him why he said, "I've got nothing against the dude, but really a radioactive spider? There's no such thing Daddy."

Right. Dean's probably seen just about everything. He's told us he'd once killed a fire-spitting spider, so I asked him, "so fire-spitting spiders can exist, but not radioactive ones? How do you know you just haven't seen one yet?"

That stumped him a minute. "Okay. So say a radioactive spider did exist, he wouldn't bite a dude to _give_ him powers. It doesn't make any sense. No. Spiderman is stupid, I want Batman please."

I had more questions for him, but I gave in and just gave him his Batman underwear. He does this thing where he crosses his arms by having a hand on each elbow, instead of tucked into his armpits like he did when he was bigger. It was adorable and I never felt like arguing with him when he did that since I was having too hard a time just not laughing at him.

But no wonder he was ticked at Cas for his bedtime attire.

Once he's in the diaper, I decide to forego pajamas for now, until he changes a bit more. I tuck him in and sit back down in the chair.

I must have fallen asleep at one point, because I wake up when Cas is gently shaking me. "Sorry, Baby. I didn't want to wake you, but I've got to leave for work and I wanted to ask how it went last night."  
"Same as before," my croaky voice says. Man am I tired.  
"Well, that's a good sign. Come on. Climb in with Dean; get a bit of sleep. I'm sure you're going to be up with him tonight too."  
"I will Cassy. I promise, but he hasn't woke up in a while, he's going to need another bottle soon…"  
"Got you covered, Babe." He nods over to the bottle he'd already sat on Dean's nightstand. "Some milk and a little honey and cinnamon."  
"Okay. I'll see if I can coax it into him, while it's still warm and while he's still asleep."  
"Then you'll climb in with him." That was one of Cas' 'suggestions-that's-not-a-suggestion.'  
"Yes, sir," I say just so he knows I've heard him loud and clear though the 'sir' is not required, anymore in our everyday.

"I'm only going in for a few hours then I'm home to help," he tells me. He kisses me and he's gone.  
I have the best husband on the planet.

Feeding Dean in his sleep is easy. That boy loves food and his body is attuned to eating no matter the time, or his state. He sucks the bottle like he's starving—he probably is, Dean needs much more than milk and juice to keep him satiated.

Baby boy's changed again. I note this as I look him over and watch him suckle. Those waves I was beginning to notice last night are turning into loose curls and he's blonder still with just a shading of brown. His sweet face has got a more babyish quality; his little body is smaller; all of his limbs shorter and chubbier.

Oh God he's precious. He's definitely not four, or five, maybe three? I don't know, it's hard to say. I want to keep smoothing my hand over his baby skin and trailing my hand through his soft hair, but he's done his bottle and we should both rest.

I put us in bed, cuddle around my baby and drift into a light sleep.

I wake up to Dean sitting up looking at me, I can tell by his confused eyes he's still heavy under the influence of Modlenol. "What you need, sweetheart?" I say at the same time I check his forehead. He's still hot with fever, but it's not as bad as last night. I check the clock; I've slept two hours.

Dean's grabbing at his bare chest wondering where his clothes are. "Na-naked, Daddee."  
His sweet little voice is heartbreaking. "Are you naked, sweetheart?"  
"Yeah. Why?" He says with a slight inflection on the word 'why.'

Rather than explaining it to him, I slide off the bed and pick him up grabbing a blanket to cover him. I know he's hot with fever, but the air that's cool in comparison to his skin will make him shiver.

"Let's go find Dean's clothes," I say and that's the truth of it. I have no idea what I'm going to put on him. We have an assortment of different sized clothes stored in the nursery we'd had designed and built when we decided to start our family.

We always knew there was a possibility we might never get a 'baby,' but I really wanted to make a nursery and Cas indulged me.

Dean's curled into my body and sitting on my hip, playing abstractedly with my hair as I dig through the closet. "Aha!"  
I find something that looks like it will fit him, a white t-shirt and a little pair of grey sweats. Since I'm in the nursery already, I lay him down on the change table to check his diaper; he's peed, so I change it and dress him.

"There. All better Dean Bean?"  
He nods with fluttering eyelids, but he's trying to fight sleep like always; most likely his instincts long developed from sleeping with one eye open in shady motels every night of his previous life.

I look over to the rocking chair we have in the nursery and it gives me an idea. I sit down with Dean resting over my shoulder and rock him as I sing him lullabies. I'm loving this, but would feel slightly less stressed if I could have any assurance that's he's going to be all right. I rock him a long time, listening to him moan in pain; little whimpers periodically leave his lips. We've been through enough times of this to know: It's all going to start soon...

The dregs of poor sleep are starting to set in for me; but I care little about the sleep I've gotten in favor of looking after Dean. I watch his fitful sleep until Cas comes home; he finds us still rocking.

"There you two are. I couldn't find you on my own, had to ask Neufeld where you'd got off to."  
"Sorry, Cassy. We've been in here all morning."  
"All morning? I thought I told you to get some sleep."  
See? Totally an order. I know my husband. "I did Cassy. Two hours. Then we came in here and I haven't been able to fall asleep."

"You look like hell, Sam," he says and I know he's worried about me. "Okay, pass him off here and go to our room for some rest. I'll make sure he eats again."  
I know he's not asking, but there's no way I want to leave Dean. "I'm fine, Cas. I'll make up the sleep when he's back with us."  
Has Dean told you? It's never a good idea to test Cas when he's worried about someone he cares about.

His eyes narrow at me in a way they haven't in a long time. "You know well what I think of back-talk and you know you are to obey me the first time I give you an order. I'm happy to remind you if you've forgotten."

My cheeks heat; embarrassed I have to be reminded of a rule so simple and one that yes, I know well. I still don't want to leave Dean any more than I did a moment ago, but I stand up immediately and pass him off to Cas. "I haven't forgotten—I'm sorry, Cas."

"C'mere, Baby." With Dean in arms he brings me down for a kiss. "Have a good sleep. I'll come wake you in a couple hours."

~SDC~

_Pure white._

That's what I see when I see Dean.

I only know some of what he's done in his other life. I don't care. He's pure now: Reborn. And even if that's not true, I still don't care, he's still my son and I love him.

I like Sam's idea to rock him. I've been sitting here at least an hour trying to calm my thoughts. He's so small now; and while I love it and my husband loves it; I want to kill Crowley as much as Dean does for doing this to him without his consent.

But that's not all. The protective feelings I have for Dean grow stronger. He's assailable, more than ever. I wish for a way to lock him up safe; never let anything happen: I know that's not realistic.

I can't think these thoughts, or I'll get too… possessive. Angry. I've felt this way about Sam often; more so when we were younger; I've learned to control my darker side. Sam is a good thought choice, though. Thinking of him and me is calming. I have a small story. Do you want to hear it?

Sam and I met when we were five years old; that was the day I wanted him to be mine; knew he _was_ mine. I'd never seen anything like him before and I remember being obsessed. Everyone thought it was cute; until it didn't go away, but they only worried for a short time. It took a little time on both sides to swallow that both heirs to two very important firearms thrones were gay, but our families love us and came around pretty quick.

Sam's tall and strong now, but he was a skinny, lanky kid. I protected him. The kids learned quickly not to mess with Samuel Colt. We were inseparable from day one and I told him on that first day that I would make him a Winchester. His accent was stronger then and he told me, "my word, Castiel Winchester. My Daddy's gonna kill you!" Both our accents were a lot deeper when we were younger. They both dulled when we moved away, but Sam's always hung onto a bit of his Southern twang. You should hear him when he's drunk, dead tired, or when he goes home to his mama's house.

I first kissed Sam when we were eight years old; I took him to prom; I bought him his first car; I put a ring on his finger as soon as we turned twenty-one. I didn't want anyone else touching him, looking at him, being with him; it was overwhelming the feelings I had for Sam. They still are, but I know how to manage them now. We went through some rough times to get where we are today, but thank the Lord, we did.

But I like thinking of all of it; how we've grown together; our life together. It's a tough story with a happy ending; it calms me to think of it. It reminds me we can get through anything, even this. Dean will be okay.

Soon Dean is awake. "Uhhh-huuuhhh… Da-dadeee…" sniff. "Daddy?"  
"It's Papa, Angel." I know my voice is not nearly as soothing as Sam's. I have to work harder to make it less rough.  
"Papa… it hurts, ev'rywhere."  
"It hurts everywhere?"  
"Huuuhhhh…" he whines and I take that to mean yes. His eyes are barely open.  
I check the time, we've been rocking: Two hours now, I doubt Sam's slept for one, but if I don't get him when his baby boy's in this much pain, he'll kill me. No one wants the wraith of a Mama bear.  
"Okay. Let's get Daddy. He'll know what to do."

I make my way to our bedroom. "Sam, Baby?"  
He's up like a shot. He used to be a heavy sleeper, until we got Dean. "Wha? What? Dean… s'my baby okay?"  
"He hurts, everywhere he says." I pass him off to Sam, the boy latches onto him, tight as a vice.

"Mm-uuuhhh…" Dean moans.  
"Oh, poor babe. Okay, s'okay, Daddy's here. C'you run him a bath Cassy? We'll be there in a minute."

~SDC~

Even being in the bath doesn't truly wake him up. I have Cas sitting in the bath with him as I sit on the outside and pour water on him over and over. He's so little now and he's not with it; I didn't want to sit him in the bath by himself.

"That feel better, baby boy?"  
He moans again, "a little."  
Yeah, the bath doesn't do much; we've tried before, nothing does any good really, but we have to do something for him. I can tell Cas is getting antsy; he hates not having control; not able to be of any use to his son.

"Damn it, Sam."  
"I know, Cas. I know."

When we take Dean out of the bath he's crying, but it's not his regular 'I didn't get my way' cry, it's his 'I'm experiencing the Lord's fury cry and Cas knows it. We've both heard it before—the last few times this happened; we'd made an agreement not to tell Dean since he doesn't seem to remember any of his time 'under.'

Cas needs a job, else he's going to lose it. "Will you make a bottle for me Cassy? Call the doctor too? I'll get him dressed."

Dean's screaming the whole time; I don’t like hearing him in pain anymore than Cas does, but I can take it. "It's okay, sweetheart. You're all right," I tell him over and over as I re-diaper his little body. I put the same clothes back on him, the white cotton t-shirt and grey joggers, but they're a little too big now—he's still a little too big for some of the other clothes I've got for him though, so these will have to do.

I don't know that Modlenol's supposed to be this painful; it didn't mention it in any of the books; the books said 'minor discomfort.' I hope they don't call _this_ minor discomfort.

I'm in the nursery; I sit on the rocking chair with my screaming child.

Cas comes in with a bottle. Dean's in too much pain to drink it. None of us gets any sleep.

~SDC~

Dean screamed half the night; it was worse than before; something's different. Call it a Daddy sixth sense, but I feel it. He twitched and convulsed; his little limbs flying everywhere—which was all like before—it's just somehow more intense. Previously, the doctor had offered us a sedative that would create a temporary paralysis, calming his writhing limbs. They'd used it before. But Dean had told us he could hear us; that he'd woke up prematurely, not being able to move. While older Dean might have been able to handle that, we weren't sure little Dean could. Instead we used other methods to keep his body calm; trying to reduce the pain, and believe me, we tired everything: All my mama's and all Cas' mama's comforts they'd used on us when we weren't well, and some stuff we made up. Nothing worked, ultimately, but at least we were there with him; living the pain with him. Finally, his little body gave out from exhaustion and he conked out into a dead sleep.

"I'm tired Cassy, but I don't think I can sleep a wink."  
"Nor I. I called work and cancelled my day same time I called the doctor."  
The doctor was coming by in the morning. Cas was actually able to get him on the phone; we've known our doctor a long time, and he said there wasn't anything he could do for the moment, but perhaps in the morning once the Modlenol's done its thing. Just comfort him, keep up with the cool compress, keep trying to feed him, bring him to emerge if we can't get anything in him for rehydration. We weren't and hadn't ever made it to that point thankfully.

We're still in the nursery; we've sorta set up shop here. There seems to be more stuff we need in here now. Don't tell Dean, but I've laid him down in the crib, with a cozy blanket. He's so small now; it's been a whole twenty-four hours of him changing. That's how it seems to go. He changes for a whole day straight of pain and horribleness then sleeps for two to three days solid. I hope this means he's done now, for his sake.

I've also got him in different clothes. What I had him in earlier is suddenly too big. Thankfully I had a few smaller sets of pajamas; he's still too big for the infant sleepers.

Cas is fiddling around in the closet. "Aha! Got it."  
"Got what?"  
He waves two little white walkie-talkie looking things at me. "Wireless baby monitors. I've been keeping them charged just in case we decided to use them for any reason."

"Genius. But what we using them for now?"  
"Let's go down and have a cup of tea like we used to. We'll come right back; we'll be able to hear him the whole time."  
Normally I'd protest, but I think that would be good about now too.

It's about two am. The whole house is quiet and we slip into the kitchen in our housecoats and pajama pants like a couple of burglars.

Cas makes the tea; I grab all necessary equipment: mugs, spoons, honey, lemon.  
We sit across from each other and stare into each other's eyes like we have everyday since we met.

"I was thinking a little about the story of us today."  
"I knew you would be. You were worried about Dean, without being able to take action."  
"You know, I didn't think there was anyone on this planet I would end up caring about half as much as I do you; but now there he is; it's scary."  
"I feel the same, Cas."  
"I'd do it all again though. Bringing Dean home is the best thing we've ever done together and we've done some pretty great things together."  
"Yeah," I smile big.

We sip our tea in silence, but I can feel my husband's tense demeanor and piercing eyes, I know what he wants before he finally breaks down and says it: "I can't help it Sam, I want… I need to fuck you. I know that's wrong, but Jesus it sure would make me feel better right now."  
He needs to control something; he can control that. "Why don't you? Why's it wrong?"  
"Dean could wake up. He's been in pain all day…"  
"Us not having sex won't take his pain away and that boy's boneless as a slug. He won't wake up."  
It takes Cas all of two seconds to process what I've just said and he's on me, pulling me to the floor. Yes there are _men_ , then there's _Cas_ when he gets feral like this and he's something else entirely. 

There's no stopping Cas, now that I've given him the green light; he won't care which members of our security can hear; they're paid to keep secrets, Cas would say.

I lie back, moaning into his mouth as his tongue hooks mine. His hands grab my wrists and he pins them firmly outward, so my arms are spread like a 'T.' He kisses me a long time.

Sitting back, he yanks the belt from the loops of his housecoat. "I'm tying you up, Baby. Stand up, hands behind your back."  
He pushes my housecoat off and to the ground and ties my hands at the wrist behind my back. "On your knees, Sam. Don't you dare fucking cum."  
I don't hesitate and move gracefully to my knees for him. I want to please Cas; I've always wanted to please Cas. I won't cum until he says anyway, but he's got to say it; I know he's just got to say it. It soothes him. He pulls out his cock. "Suck, Baby."

But he doesn't wait for me to suck; he grabs me by my long hair and shoves my mouth down over his pulsing member. "Oh yeah… that's good, so good, Baby."

His cock fills my mouth; I know he's in the mood for teeth, so I suck him and graze my teeth along his shaft. My own cock is solid behind my pajama pants; normally, holding my orgasm isn't a problem, but my body is tired even if my brain isn't and it's hard not to let go. I'm practically clenching my balls; I love sucking Cas' cock; it turns me on like you wouldn't believe.

"That's it get me wet."  
Oh Jesus. I can only think about why he wants his cock wet; he wants to impale me with it. I'd beg him to just do it, but my mouth's kinda busy.

"Up," he says pulling my bicep and I fluidly stand only to be roughly bent over the kitchen counter, my pajama pants are raked down, but only far enough to expose the curves of my buttocks and more important; my wanting cleft. He takes the time to prep me, using a little lube and his fingers (we learned long ago to keep lube all around the house) and he's filling me, slamming hard into me, owning me. My feet and calves strain as I'm pushed up on my toes repeatedly—I'm tall, but the counter tops are high and with the angle I'm bent at, I can't seem to get tall enough not to have to push up on my tip-toes.

And I love it. The vulnerability, giving all control of what happens to my body over to Cas, the pain and strain in my calves; my wood pressing into the wood of the cabinet from inside my pants. I think my cock's going to explode.

"Please Cas, I can't…"  
"Yes you can Baby, don't you fucking cum. I mean it."

I whimper but obey best I can. God, he feels, so good… smooth, sure… please cum Cassy I beg him in my head and out loud, begging's good…

I'm just a jumble of thoughts and mumblings now, reduced to a wiry nerve of arousal.

Since he's only got my pants pulled down enough to shove his cock in my hole; _my_ poor cock is still trapped inside my pajama pants, rubbing against them forbidden any sort of pleasure, being tortured. My exposed nipples rub against the counter, my skin squeaking and tugging; it's all so delicious, all so freeing, and it hurts. But at least the pain is a distraction from my impending orgasm, threatening to spill out with each sharp thrust from Cas.

When he finally explodes inside me, I still haven't cum and I don't know how I pull it off. I'm delirious with need, pleading with my eyes.

"Don't worry, I haven't forgot about my good boy—I've got a special reward for you."  
I'm so hyped up on hormones my only thought is: Reward? I like rewards.

He drags me over to the kitchen table, turns a chair around and sits me in it after pulling my pants further down; to my ankles, my tied arms have to slip around the chair back.

And oh Jesus, is he going to do what I think he's going to do? Yep. He is.

Cas begins preparing himself using one, two then three fingers, as I watch him, my poor cock drooling pre-cum as I sit on my already sore bum.

He's naked and hard again already. My Cassy has the stamina of a rabbit.

When he's ready, he sits on me, arms around my neck and slides his nether cheeks up and down my tortured cock.  
"You want to fuck me, Baby?"

"Please…"  
"Say it. Say what you want, Baby."

He knows it's hard for me to swear and especially to say certain swear words. It's been ingrained from too many years of my mama and Sunday school. I'm still afraid she'll pop outta nowhere with a bar of soap; which has nothing on I know how much it would displease her to know her eldest son had a sailor mouth like some of her other sons. It's a Sam thing and very much tied into my particular submissive tendencies. I literally need to please, or I go mad inside. Disappointment kills me.

It's not that I never swear. One pops out when the time's appropriate. I wouldn't mind saying a few choice words to that Demon; even Mama's been know to swear a time or two and she'd probably have a few words of her own for the Demon that hurt her grandbaby.

But I know how much it will please Cas right now; I aim to please, and since I never do it—it will feel oh so dirty for the both of us.

_Sorry Mama._

"Let me fuck you, Cas."

He shudders then lifts up to slide, painfully slowly, down my shaft. Of course technically he's still 'fucking' me; and he's doing it at the pace of a Sunday afternoon. It's worse than when he was taking me over the counter, at least I had pain to concentrate on and distract me. Here there's nothing. I throw my head back and try to breath.

"Your cock feels good, Baby. It's in my ass."  
_Yes, I know._ Is what I want to say but I wouldn’t dare, the sadist is enjoying my anguish too much, he'll just drag it on longer and I want to cum, so bad. 

"But you're not _really_ fucking me are you, Baby?"

"N-no, Cas."

"That's right. Your Cock's in my ass, but I'm fucking you. I can go slow..." He slows to demonstrate his powers, which he knows I know well enough and believe me, I don't need a demonstration.

"...or I can go fast..." I'm moaning loud and I don't care who hears as he continually picks up the pace.

"And there isn't a thing you can do about it, is there Baby?"

"No, sir." That's a 'no, sir' kind of question, at least it is if I want to cum sometime tonight. My ability to read my husband so well is rewarded.

"You want to cum Sam?"  
Bas—jerk. I know better than to answer that with a 'yes!' So I tell him, "i-if it pleases you… Cassy."

He leans down into my neck and tells me, "it would. It would very much."  
And I'm a goner. I cum hard into his hole, lifting my hips; pushing into him, as my cock explodes like a firecracker on the fourth of July.

Cas always has intensity etched into his dark eyes, but now, they've got some softness. As much softness as Cas gets--he's blissed out; for Cas that is. 

"How was that, Cassy? Get what you needed?"

"I did, Baby. But I'm leaving you tied up 'till we're in bed."  
I shake my head—so he's in one of those moods. It would have been a long night in a different way if we didn't have Dean to worry about. Did I mention sexual 'torture' is Cas' favorite? He likes making me needy and making me wait.

We're both bagged after that though, the lack of sleep catching up with us. And we decide to lie down in our bed, in hopes of sleeping. We grab Dean of course, who's still out cold, but breathing (we checked) and practically die when our heads hit the pillow… after Cas unties me, of course.


	10. If You Thought He Was Cute Before...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean wakes up after his final bout with Modlenol. Now his secret weapon is ultra-cuteness.

It was different this time.

I don't usually remember a thing and I don't really remember much, except I do remember pain; a lot of fucking pain. And not just my own pain. My parents were in pain too; the emotional kind, but there was nothing I could do to stop their pain and it pissed me off.

I tried so hard for them, I tried to stop screaming that is—but I couldn't. Have you ever been set on fire? Yeah, well neither have I, but I'm sure that's what it felt like. I could feel every cell in my body this time, as it shifted and changed; my bones as they shed and shortened; my brain as it squeezed like it was in a fucking vice.

Then nothing.

My eyes open and I see bars. For the briefest of seconds I think that maybe everything was a dream; that I'm not Dean Winchester, I'm Old Dean and I'm locked in one of Henrikson's cells. I feel a new kind of pain that twists my cold, black heart—because now that I've had a taste of having parents like Sam and Cas… well I want to keep them.

I still have no regrets from my old life. Okay, maybe not zero regrets, but I wouldn't have chosen to just trash it. Fuck. What I'm trying to say is, I liked my old life fine, but I want to live this one now that it's spread before me. I mean, Kate Upton offers to suck your cock, you gonna say no just because you've had it done before?

I admit, maybe not the best analogy, but I think you get my meaning.

Anyway, back to opening my eyes. So I open them, see bars, freak out then notice they're white, so I can't be in jail; calm down momentarily then freak out again because I can now see exactly what I'm in: It's a freaking crib!

I'll kill them; I'll kill them both.

Above me is a mobile, not even a cool one, but one with freaking dorky dinosaurs. To my right is like five billion stuffed creatures. Seriously. I can open a stuffed animal petting zoo with the number of stuffies in here.

The only thing I like is the damn blanket covering me. It's the softest, coziest thing I've ever felt, well aside from Daddy and Papa… who are where by the way? Shouldn't they be by my bedside, crying over my impending doom?

Nope. They're nowhere to be seen. That's fine. Who needs'em?

And what the _Lucifer_ is in my mouth? All disoriented from waking up, I didn't notice I've been sucking on something, because apparently I've been sucking on it so long it's become part of my mouth. I rip it out and check it out. A soother? They had me sucking on a fucking pacifier? 

Death is too good for them. Torture. I'll get Bobby to help me and I'll torture them both. Make Daddy listen to Metallica for twenty-four hours straight and for Papa it will be Nickelback, 'cause he likes Metallica. I toss it to the side. It lands beside a funny looking giraffe stuffy.

I have no idea how 'little' I am, or what stage of development I've slipped back into, so it's time to take this car for a cruise. I know my limbs are shorter, I don't even want to think about how short, but what can they do?

Can I still walk? Hell can I talk? I don't want to try just yet, one thing at a time.

I'm on my belly, so I unwrap myself from the blanket, and sit up. Nope. No problems there. Sitting feels strong. Pleased with myself, I lean forward and roll onto my feet, my hands palm down flat on the… are these dino sheets? Oh no! All this shit's gotta go. Actually never mind, I'm _not_ staying in this crib. My daddies can go suck eggs.

Okay. Focus Dean.

I push off and use my torso to unfurl my spine upward, slow and steady-like. It's not steel solid, but I'm able to stand fairly easy. Nice. Okay. I take a step and I woulda done it too, but two things happen at once. One: I hear a crinkling sound; it distracts me. Two: My feet are bare and my fucking toe gets caught in the stupid, fucking dino idiot sheets. I fall and smuck my head right into the God damned white crib bars. I was mildly angry before; now I'm pissed.

I say my first word: "Puc." You've got to be kidding me with this shit. Please tell me I can fucking say more than 'puc?'

Tears prickle my eyes; more from frustration; a little from pain; but I won't cry over a little bump on the head. Determined more than ever, I use the bars to help me stand up and peer over the blasted crib, but my fucking head _hurts_ so I have to stop to rub it. That's how Daddy finds me.

"Oh, hello, Sweetheart! You're awake."  
What is Daddy doing, talking to me like I'm a damn infant? I'm not. I don't know how old I am, but I'm not an infant. Babies can't stand up like I can and… I smooth my tongue around my mouth… yep, got teeth, though they're definitely the teeth of a little person. One bright side. My parents are fucking loaded. I'm going to clean house when I lose these babies.

I give him my best glare to portray just how pissed I am.  
"What's with the tears? Oh baby, did you bang your head?"  
Yeah. I probably have a fucking goose egg on my head too; the stupid thing still hurts more than it should. I nod and reach for him because I want out of the damn crib. He thinks it's because I want comfort after hitting my head.

"Oh, Dean Bean…"  
I point to the crib and try to think of the shortest way to tell him what I think of this whole crib mess since I'm already gathering talking is going to be tough. It's weird as fuck. When I'm thinking, the words come fast like before, I can understand Daddy clearly, but as soon as I shift my thinking into _saying,_ it's like my brain's under water.

It feels what I imagine it would if I sat around not working out for fifty years then was asked to get up and run a marathon. I would probably still remember how to run and what running was but trying to actually run would be difficult and awkward. So yeah, my brain feels out of shape.

I give it a shot anyway. "B-baaa… baad." Okay. That was okay. It was a lot of fucking work to say that and I feel proud of myself for it.  
"Look at you Dean. You said your first word! That's great, Sugar. And yes the crib is bad. Bad crib; hurt my Dean." He fake hits the crib.

While that strangely makes me feel a bit better, no. He's not getting it. I shake my head and try again. And, uh, let's keep my real first word between you and me. "Baad," I say again and point at the crib.  
"Oh. I see. Dean doesn't like his crib?"

Is he going to keep taking to me in the third person?

I nod.

He looks… perturbed. "Well, we'll talk about that. But for now, you must be starving, let's get you changed first, then we'll have lunch. Your head okay, sweetie?"  
I nod. Much safer to nod.

I'm surprised when 'getting me changed' involves lying me down on a change table. I'm not impressed, 'cause I'm not stupid. I know what Daddy's doing and I know what that crinkling sound I heard is, now.

I let him get as far as taking the diaper off, because that part I'm cool with, and fucking hell, I've peed in the thing (I don't even want to think what I'd do if it was the other) so I let him wipe me off, but then I sit up.

"Just a sec, Sugar. Daddy's gotta put a fresh diaper on you—you don't want to have an accident, do you?"  
Have an accident? I'm not going to have an accident. I wrinkle my nose and flip over.

"Are you going to give Daddy a hard time about diapers, Sur?"

I probably look comical. I'm wearing… what the hell am I wearing… Son of a bitch! Is that a teddy bear on my shirt? Daddy!

Damn it. I'm wearing a _teddy bear_ shirt and nothing else, my wang is blowing in the breeze, my little butt up in the air and I've got nowhere to go.

Daddy pays no mind to my antics, 'cause now, he's way stronger than me and he can simply flip me over onto a fresh diaper and wrangle me into the thing. I don't make it easy for him, which results in me almost falling off the change table a couple of times.

In the end, Daddy wins and I'm pouting, sitting in a diaper and a t-shirt. Time for another word.

"O-o-f."  
"What was that, sweetheart?"  
Oh, fuck this. I grab at the diaper. "O-off." He-ey! That was pretty good!

"On," Daddy says. _He_ doesn't have to be monosyllabic.  
"Off-f," I say again and pull the diaper, but my little hands aren't as dexterous as they should be. It's going to take me forever to figure out how to get out of this contraption.

"No, Dean. On."  
Whatever. I stop talking and sulk. He starts putting pants on me. "We'll eat and chat about some things, okay Pumpkin Butter? I know this is going to be hard for you; Papa and I want to make it as easy as we can. Papa will be home from work early; he wants to see you awake. We thought you might wake up today—you've been out for a solid four days."

He picks me up. "Hey, where'd your suckie get to?"  
Suckie? Did he mean soother? Stupidly, I point to it, more because it's something I _can_ do.

I guess right; he did mean soother. He moves back to the crib and retrieves it. Without warning, it's placed back in my mouth. Why on Earth would he think I'd _want_ the evil thing?

"You wouldn't calm down without out that," he says tapping it lightly. "It was Papa's idea."  
God. Does he have to look so damn happy about it? Makes it harder to get rid of the thing. I give a couple of sucks on it—it is kind of soothing, especially since I feel so agitated over this predicament I find myself in. I planned on throwing it to the floor and trying out the word 'no,' but I don't want to wipe that smile off his face. I guess it couldn't hurt to suck on it, just for a little while. Shut-up. Don't say a word.

We head down to the kitchen and Daddy puts me down on the floor.

I think I know what an ant feels like now; everything is so big. Huge. The counter seems like it's forever away and the tiles on the kitchen floor are bigger than my hands. I look wide eyes at everything, then back up at Daddy.

Daddy crouches down to my height and plants a big kiss on my forehead. "You're something else precious, baby boy."

As Papa would say, Daddy's a pretty happy guy already, but man he's over the fricking moon with this new development. He may have loved it when I was a 'four-fiveish' year-old, but this—he's euphoric. Watch. I'll take that to a whole 'nother level.

"Dah… Da-hee…" I say from behind the soother. Okay, I've gotta work on that one a bit, but it gets the intended result.  
"Daddy! Oh, you can still say Daddy! That's excellent sweetheart!" He swings me up in the air and my stomach falls faster than the rest of me does when he catches me. Worth it. You should see his face right now…

"How about Papa? Pah… Pah.."  
Yeah. I know the word Papa; you don't have to sound it out. Saying it's another thing; let's see. "Pah-pa."  
Oh. That's not so bad.  
"Good, boy! He's going to be so proud of you." He puts me back on the floor, on my ass, but his eyes are on me the whole time he gets stuff out of the fridge. I'm left to explore and I'm not sure if I like it. I can't fucking believe it; me, Dean Winchester, hunter of ghosts, demons and ghouls is… scared. And whoa, where'd Daddy go? Did he leave? Why would he leave me like this? Anything can get me now and there'd be nothing I could do to stop it. Doesn't he know that? What the hell is wrong with him?

I start to panic a little bit. Pull it together Winchester.

I decide to get up and try to find Daddy. Maybe he needs help with making food… Not because I'm scared. Nu-uh. No way. Because he might need my help… I push up kinda like I did in the crib only there's no stupid dino sheets to catch on my feet—I'm still barefoot though—I take a shaky step and, whoa, have to catch my balance a little. I hear that God damned diaper crinkling.

I take another step and another and… boom, on my ass. Fuck. That hurt. I don't let it deter me though, I get up again and continue toddling around the corner of the kitchen's island, all the way the sound of my bare feet slapping the floor with heavy, unpracticed steps, the stupid diaper noisy with every movement. When I see Daddy's big strong legs I smile— _victory!_

"Are you looking for Daddy, sweetheart?"

"Dah-deee," I say pointing to him.  
"Sweet Lord, Dean. I think my heart's going to burst if you keep saying my name like that."  
I yank on his pant leg and hold my arms up, "Uhh. Uhh. Uhh." I can say the 'p' in Papa, but not 'up?' How does that fucking work?

Daddy gets my meaning and lifts me onto his hip. I curl into him and grab on. I didn't realize it 'till now, but my little heart was beating fast. "Daddy was right here the whole time, sweetheart. You didn't think I'd leave my Dean all alone, did you?"

I nodded. Fuck it. If he was going to offer up all those words, I won't deny them now only to have to try to struggle to explain it later—I don't want him to leave me again.

"How about you sit right here on the counter? Chef Andrew's at the market picking up things for our dinner, so lunch is à la Daddy."  
If he thinks he's leaving me sitting on a counter while I'm defenseless, he's got another thing coming. I secure my tiny hands into his shirt and whine as I suck the damn pacifier harder.

"Hmmm… Does Daddy have a kling-on?"

I nod into his shirt. A few quiet tears fall from my eyes—I'm crying? Jesus. Maybe I am a baby.

"Okay. You can stay with Daddy. I just thought my Dean would like to explore. I thought I saw a spider somewhere earlier. Thought maybe you could hunt it down for me."

Daddy saw a spider and he hasn't fled the country? I look up to him with inquisitive eyes, tilting my head. He'll know what I mean.

"Well I was scared, but I know I've got Dean to protect me. Do you want to see what Papa made for you?"

I nod at him with serious eyes.

He moves over to the cupboard that's got cleaning supplies in it and pulls something out. I'm on his hip the whole time; it looks scary inside there. Definitely a good place for a ghoul to live. Oh God. I _know_ ghouls and ghosts are real. Not like other kids who only _think_ they are. Least last time around it wasn't 'till I was four that I found that little pieced of trivia out. At least at four, talking and running are options.

Out of the cupboard, he pulls what looks like a kid's broom with foil around it. A kid sized replica of my previous 'spider weapon.'

"Your papa's a real smart guy and he thought you'd be feeling a little vulnerable when you woke up. He made this for you—you want to give it a try?"

I nod, slow and reach for the broom. Papa's good. It's totally 'Dean-sized.' I don't know how he got it right, but he did. I can hold it. It's a little heavy, but manageable. It's really cool and all, but Daddy's not going to leave me is he? I look at him.

"Not ready yet, huh, sweetheart? Okay, well you hold onto that and Daddy will hold onto you. We'll make a simple lunch. I think there's already some chopped stuff in the fridge, all Daddy has to do is put it on a plate."  
Yeah and in the mean time I'll stand watch. I like that plan.

I watch out for any signs of the spider, while at the same time watch as Daddy pulls a plate of chopped fruit out of the fridge. He puts some on a cool plastic batman plate for me, and the rest of it on the table. He grabs a banana and a knife placing them down on the kitchen table too, along with chopped cheese, meat and a basket of buns. He does this all one handed, it takes him longer than if he'd had two, I suspect, but I don't feel bad for making him carry me at all.

"There. All set. We just need—"  
I hear what I can tell he's looking at and spin around as much as I can in his arms. "Pa-pah!" I say and I dive.

"Whoa! Dean!" Daddy says as I practically fall out of his arms.  
Papa catches me flawlessly and I grab onto his neck. Daddy would protect me with his life, I know, but I feel infinitely better now that Papa's here, too. Bad guys wouldn't dare look at him the wrong way, or he'd smush them, I know. This doesn't mean I let Daddy out of my sight. "Listen to you, say Papa!" He looks at Daddy.  
"I know. He's heartbreakingly adorable, Cas. My heart just… Lord have mercy!"  
"So he can say some words?"  
"Yeah, but he's having trouble, like the doctor said."

Hey! I'm still here.

I wave my broom weapon about and show Papa I have it, by way of thanks. "Oh, you have your spider hunting weapon. Is there a spider somewhere I should know about?"

I just shrug because I haven't seen anything and I've been on the look out for him awhile now. I'm starting to think Daddy made him up—it was all kind of suspect anyway. I think Daddy would have taken me out to eat rather than be in the same room as a spider and he didn’t even 'attire' me.

"I think all spider hunts are postponed until after lunch," Daddy decides. And he's pulling something over to the table I didn't see before—a highchair.

A highchair? Is all of this really necessary? I mean first with the crib then diaper, hell I'm still sucking on a soother... Now this?

Daddy takes the tray away and Papa sits me inside while I muster up my best scowl. Papa and Daddy look at each other. "Yeah, he's not too happy about this whole thing," Daddy explains to Papa, which is the biggest understatement of the year by the way. "I haven't told him anything yet. I waited for you."

"Can I have your broom please, Dean?" Papa asks. When he sees I'm hesitant to relinquish it he adds, "I'll give it right back after lunch, okay?"  
I nod and hand it over. "Can you get his soother too, Cas?"  
Papa responds quickly and pulls the thing out of my mouth and my mouth fucking chases it and I watch it fly away: Papa places it on the counter far, far away.  
"Don't worry, sweetheart, you'll get that back too," Daddy says as he sits and starts opening the banana he'd put on the table.

I _don't_ care about the stupid soother. It was just kind of shocking that's all.

When I'm set up with banana on my tray, Daddy says, "can you eat those Dean Bean? Or do you need Daddy's help?"

Help? To eat bananas?

I scowl at him deeper, by way of answer, and reach for a small chunk. It's slippery and I barely get my little fingers on one. What the hell is wrong with me? Finally I do, but it's not easy as it should be; I shove it in my mouth.

"Chew that good sweetheart. We don't want you to choke."

As if I'm going to choke on a banana—  
Okay. Cue choking.  
Seriously. I'm choking. On a banana. How stupid.  
Dean Winchester, hunter extraordinaire death by phallic shaped fruit.

"That's it baby keep coughing. Cough it up; cough it up…"  
And I do. Now I'm just coughing on air and my own saliva. Daddy gives me a drink of milk and I'm okay, but by the looks of it, my parents are not; I think I've scared the crap out of them. If Papa could beat the pulp out of choking, he would right now.

"Sam, maybe you should feed him, just for a bit—I don't think my heart can withstand another episode of that just now."  
If Papa hadn't of said it, I think Daddy would have done it anyway since he doesn't look to disagree; he's already picked up a little baby fork and starts feeding me the smallest pieces of banana you've ever seen. Ridiculous. My mood plummets.

"So Dean, we have some things to tell you, none of it bad, but it may not be to your… liking," Papa begins.

None of it's gonna be to my liking he means.

"Start with the best news, Cassy."

"Right. The doctor did some tests yesterday… simple tests he was able to do right here in our home."

"Papa _persuaded_ him to do them here," Daddy says winking.

"The first test showed your system is Modlenol free, so no more changes."  
Thank Christ! That is good news. I smile.  
Then Papa looks at Daddy and they have one of those wordless conversations only they can have because they've known each other for so damn long.

Daddy speaks. "The doctor says you're between one and two."  
"Uh?" I say and have to suffer a moment where they coo over how cute I apparently look trying to talk. Okay. Focus, Daddies.

"Sorry sweet boy… if you could…" Daddy sighs. "Anyway, you're roughly eighteen months old physically. Developmentally is another story altogether and a bit harder to put a number on because while you have regressed for the most part to the chronological age you're at now, you've still got your old memories and therefore much of what you've learned intellectually. The amount your development was affected is dependent on how your body's reacted with the Modlenol. For the most part, it's a 'we're about to find out' situation, but the doctor was able to tell us some things."

Oh joy. What the hell does that mean?  
This is the part they're nervous about telling me; they give each other looks again having another wordless conversation.

"Everything will be affected on some level: Speech, emotions, kinesiology, and… bodily functions. You're going to have to relearn a lot of stuff." He must see how much this information displeases me because he adds, "but there's a bit of good news. With speech in particular, it's a little bit more like what would happen during a stroke versus learning as an infant for the first time; that means you'll learn faster than an infant would. As well, you get to begin about where an eighteen month old would so you've maintained some of your previous skill for speech. From what I've gathered, you can understand everything we say, yes?"

I nod as I thoughtfully munch on a pineapple Daddy just gave me, digesting what he's saying. So not quite an infant, but a stroke victim… great…

"Speech is complicated. Not only does the brain have to make sense of words, but sounds and variations of sound, like infliction, tone and so forth. The muscles in your face, along with your tongue have to know just how to move—it's quite the workout for your brain to figure out and coordinate.  
"It seems to me you know your words, so that's part of the battle won, you just need to reteach your brain and facial muscles how to _say_ them, how to say sounds; Daddy can practice everyday with you sweetheart. You're already saying some stuff, which is apparently really good, some one and a half year olds, even moddler one and a half year olds, aren't able to say too much.

The last part isn't comforting, Daddy.

"I've read it's a bit like learning a new language. Often people will understand the language before their brain learns to speak it—it can take time for your brain to learn an accent and tell your mouth how to say it."

Yeah, yeah. I get it. Get to the other stuff.

"You'll have to condition your body for walking and running again, holding and lifting. That part won't be too hard on you… but…" He looks at Papa again.

"Emotionally Dean; you're going to experience young emotions," Papa tells it to me straight as usual. "But we hope you'll embrace it Dean. We want you to live in the mindset as much as you can. Really have a second childhood like we've been saying all along."

Easy for him to say, he's not the one in diapers. Speaking of. I reach down grab at my crotch. "O-off?" I say, knowing Daddy will figure out my code.

Papa looks confused. Daddy explains: "He's talking about his diaper Cas. He wanted it off earlier, I think he wants to know why he's wearing those."  
Daddy hands me a strawberry. "Take little bites Dean and Daddy will let you have that."

I'm ridiculously ecstatic to hold the strawberry and feed it to myself. I listen to Daddy and only take small bites—choking wasn't fun for me either.

"You have to wear diapers so you don't have any accidents. You will Dean. There's no doubt about that, it's in all the books and the doctor confirmed it. We'll try potty training as soon as is appropriate. Besides baby boy, they'll help you _be_ a baby boy."

It's really hard not to throw my strawberry at him for saying so and don't get me started on what I think of 'potty training.'

"C'mon, Sugarbug. Don't be upset."

"Sometimes Daddy and I must decide what's best for you, this is one of those times. It may not seem it right now, but no diapers would end in disaster. What if you had an accident, at Gramma's house in front of all your cousins, hmmm?"

I have to admit, that would be worse. I still don't like any of this, but I soften my face a little. Maybe I can give Daddy some of my strawberry; let him know I'm not mad at him. It's Crowley I'm mad at. That guys going to pay for putting me in diapers.

"You want Daddy to eat your strawberry? But that's Dean's strawberry. I think you'd better eat it."  
Thank, God. It's pretty fucking delicious. As much as I love Daddy, I kinda wanted to keep it.

'Talk about Dean time' seems to be over for now and I'm in heaven because Daddy's feeding me cheese. Over the course of lunch we learn I still have a big appetite and I learn something new: Daddy and Papa are pretty good at reading me, so I have absolutely no need for talking, instead of talking, I grunt and point at what I want.

When we're done, Daddy wipes my hands and face with a cloth; removes the tray and sets me down in front of Papa. I watch Daddy move away and I don't like it. I look to Papa then point over to Daddy. "Uh!"

"Daddy's just putting the food away, he'll be back, Kiddo."  
Yes. That's a completely reasonable explanation. Except my brain doesn't think so, to me it looks like he's going away forever; my eyes well with tears; my lip pouts out and I cry.  
Papa picks me up. "Okay, baby Dean. C'mere; I'll show you."  
He literally walks four steps and we're at the fridge where Daddy's putting our lunch things back in. Now I really start crying and reaching for him. Daddy takes me from Papa.  
"What's with all the tears, baby boy?" Daddy says bouncing me.  
"I think someone's attached to Daddy," Papa tells him.  
"I know. Dean needs his suckie." Daddy moves us back to the counter where it was left.

I don't think that's my problem, but I don't argue since I don't know what my problem is. I don't understand why I can't let go of Daddy. I was happy to be with Papa before.

Daddy pops the soother (I won't call it what he does) into my mouth; I start to suck immediately, already attuned to having it in my mouth, and look at him helplessly. I'm outta ideas, I hope Daddy's got one.

"Oh baby…" Daddy says bouncing me some more.  
"You take care of the baby, Baby," Papa says with shine in his eyes on the second 'Baby' that's for Daddy. "I'll clean up."

"Thanks, Cas. I think our Dean needs another snooze. And I know what you're thinking," Daddy says to me. "You're thinking you just woke up, but your little body's been through a lot."

I whine and shake my head into the crook of his shoulder.

"C'mon Pumpkin Butter. We'll just go rock. How's that sound? If you don't fall asleep we'll come back down—I'll bet Papa would take us for a ride in the Impala later…"

My whole head perks up at that. I haven't been for a ride in her since this whole mess.

"Papa would," he says from across the kitchen. "In fact, while you have a rest, I'll set up the car seat in the Impala for you, Kiddo."  
Right. Car seat. Guess I can't go anywhere without one of those for a while.

Daddy carries me upstairs, and back to the room with the crib; I send the crib a glare, "ba-ad."  
Daddy laughs. "Where you gonna sleep baby boy?"  
I don't know, but not in there.  
Then, without warning Daddy checks to see if I'm wet. Sure he does it subtlety, but I don't miss it. He could have just asked me, I would have told him I was dry.

"Oh, Dean. You're being silly. I can tell just what you're thinking by the expressions on your face—you don't need to be so shy with Daddy, or Papa. You're our little boy. Now, what else do we need? Oh yes." He reaches in to grab that insanely soft blanket I woke up with. I reach for it and pull it to me snuggling my face into it.

Daddy laughs. "You like that blanket sweetheart?"  
I nod and yawn. Fuck. Maybe I am tired.

"Daddy knew he had a sleepy boy." He sits in the rocking chair, rearranging me, so I'm comfortable. My short legs are wrapped around his torso, my head buried in the fuck-awesome combo of his neck and the blanket.

As he rocks me he says: "Did I ever tell you that your papa was a cowboy?"  
I shake my head into his neck.  
"Yep. He sure was, before his Daddy made him take over the family business. That's the same time he learned to play guitar—he used to sing to me all the time, he's got a great singing voice."

That peaks my interest. Daddy sings to me all the time, but then, he's usually the one to put me to bed. Daddy's voice is quite good; least I think so, but I'd like to hear Papa sing.

"Maybe we can get him to sing for Dean sometime… it's been a little while."

Speaking of singing, Daddy starts the Dean lullaby. He'd invented it recently when I stopped going to bed so easily. It's a little silly, but it does the trick. He also sings me versions of a bunch of other kid type songs all with 'Dean' interspersed where appropriate.

It doesn't take long this time. My little body is tired; my eyes flutter closed.

~SDC~

It's long after dark—time well beyond when little boys should be in bed. Especially Dean, but he's only just fallen asleep. He'd enjoyed riding in his car, but after that he was subdued. I know he's having a bit of trouble adjusting to all the changes, but at the same time there are so many things that come instinctually to him.

He won't let go of Daddy. I thought he was just tired, but it isn't that. After his nap, he hung onto me every bit as tight and only let me go to put him in the car seat—I had to sit in the back with him.

I know it's nothing against Cas. Dean adores his Papa, but I'm his full time caretaker… in some ways like a Mama—it's natural for babies to cling to their mamas. Cas loves seeing it. I can't help but enjoy it since I know it won't last forever. Everything's new. Dean's a fighter; he'll adjust.

He pretends not to like his soother, wrinkling his nose every time I give it to him, probably thinks he's doing it for me, but you should see how he sucks it; how it calms him; how he reacts when Cas or I take it out.

As so far, he hasn't really fought me on much. I think deep down he wants to give in as much as we want him to, but there's still a little piece of him left that's rumbling beneath the surface that's in conflict with the idea he's anything, but a twenty-eight year old male. It's coming. I can feel it—I may have my work cut out for me in the days to come.

"Baby's asleep, Baby?"  
I laugh. "You like saying that don't you?"  
He pulls me to him. "Yep. Am I ever going to get a turn to put him to bed on a night other than when you're out with friends?"  
I have been a bit of a baby hog. "I doubt you will right now."  
"Yeah, I know. He's a bit of a Kling-on," he says smiling wide.

Cas is naked, his cock already hard and pressing into mine over top of my jeans and I know what he's angling for; I play dumb and move anyway from him, with only a chaste kiss to his lips as I carry on to our ensuite bath to get ready for bed.

"Where do you think you're going?" He calls from the bed.  
"To brush my teeth Cas, or is that suddenly forbidden? I thought you were big on hygiene, huh?"  
"Hurry up."

"He even _smells_ like a baby Cas," I carry on as I load toothpaste onto my brush, while at the same time unbuttoning my jeans. "He has no idea how fricken adorable he is."  
"That's probably a good thing—somehow I don't think he'll loose any of his con artist tendencies. Are you finished yet?"  
"I'm coming." This is where he gets impatient… and I make him wait a bit more. I wash my face and only remove my jeans leaving just my boxers on. Dean won't be running in here anymore, so if I do need to get him, I'll have a quick second to put on a housecoat; Cas and I have been able to resume our naked sleeping.

"Are you doing that thing where you make me wait, Samuel Avery? You know I don't appreciate it."

It's hard not to laugh; that will be appreciated even less. "I'm getting ready for bed, Cassy."  
"You're dicking around."

I can't deny it.

I finally emerge from the ensuite, _now_ I'll risk laughing when he can see my face and find me too irresistible to be mad at. But I don't feel like laughing when I see what he's got in his hand. Cas is leaning on his side spinning a nasty looking chastity device on his finger, reading a rifle magazine.

"Oh finally. I'm just going to put this on you then we'll go to bed, since you seem in no rush to have sex tonight."

Cas knows exactly how much I like chastity, which is very little.

I start sputtering. "I'm sorry, Cassy. It was a joke… I didn't mean to upset you…"  
His face cracks into a Cheshire smile, and tosses the cock cage to the side. "C'mere Baby."  
I do, but I'm outraged. "That was a joke? How can you joke like that? You know how much I hate that thing."  
"Which is why I used it. I'm surprised you fell for it. I'm not very good at making jokes as you know. And you deserved it—making me wait."

He grabs my arm and pulls me closer to the bed. "I am going to spank you though."  
"What for?"  
"Why do you think?"

I rack my brain but I honestly can't think of a thing; this is going to be a long spanking. He doesn't wait for me to figure it out; not his style; he sits up and flips me over his bare thighs. "Hips up, Baby."

I obey and lose my boxers, he's yanking them down to my ankles. "Kick those off—you won't need'em anymore tonight."

I do with a mixture of excitement and worry. Did I do something to displease Cas?

His hand rubs lovingly over my smooth cheeks. "Wow. You've been a good boy, your ass is white—too white—I'm going to change that."

I want to groan, but I know better and keep my comments to myself as he begins a long round of smacks, the stingy kind; the ones that _will_ make my bottom red and make sitting a little uncomfortable. After a good thirty rounds, fifteen each cheek, he asks, "any ideas yet? Break any rules?"

He continues spanking me through his interrogation, but I know I'm supposed to answer. "N-no, Cassy. I can't think of any." I really am good about following rules in that if I break them it's a true lapse in judgment—I don't set out to be a brat, it's just not my style, or our particular dynamic.

The teasing from before is about as far as I go.

"Hmmm… interesting…"  
"Is it because of the teasing from before?" I'm pretty sure it's not, but it's worth checking—my butt would really like me solve the riddle, it wants to sit tomorrow.

"Oh? So you were teasing me and not just taking all that time to brush the knots out of your flowing hair?"  
"Yes—ow! Cas, I told you that."  
He continues to spank me a little while, continuing his interrogation.  
"No. This isn't for the teasing though if it had gone on any longer it would be."

See? I'm fairly good at reading my husband. I know when to back off.  
"How about with Dean? Feeling guilty about his latest regression?"  
"No—actually I probably should feel guiltier, but I'm not. I'm enjoying it too much," I admit.

"So what reason _could_ I have?"

"I honestly don't know," I whine a little out of breath; my bottom is really heating up, I have to kick and wiggle. I'm not quite at tears yet, but much more of this and I will be. I'm pretty much conditioned to cry now during spankings though the point I have to reach for crying varyies and for varying reasons. Right now, it's just because Cas' hand is really, really good at spanking.

He stops and rubs, igniting all the nerves at once; his smacks get lighter and further apart.

"Spread your legs for me, Baby."  
I do and right away he grabs my balls; my already half-hard cock feeling like it just ingested rocket-fuel. "Mmmmhhhh…" that feels good. He rubs and tugs my balls as he continues to lay firm spanks on my already hot cheeks.

"That's it. Good boy. Do I need a reason to spank you?"  
I swallow, because, "no, sir. No you don't."

"That's right, Baby. I just wanted to. I like spanking your ass. I like seeing it red when I fuck you; knowing you're mine. Spread your legs wider, Baby."

I do; my cock's rock hard against Cas' naked thighs. He lays firms smacks down on my tender cheeks, they hurt, but are interspersed with Cas stopping to tug my balls and tease my cleft; spreading it with his fingers and circling my hole.

Whack.  
Whack.  
Whack.  
Then tug and smooth, tug and smooth at my balls. "Oh, _God_ Cassy!" I'm moaning and wriggling, it feels so good.

"You look so good, Baby. C'mere."

He pulls me up and drags me onto the bed. "Hands and knees, Baby."

Oh, like that is it? Cas wants something hard and fast tonight. Spanking me having aroused his dominance.

Once I'm on my hands and knees, he drags my torso backward, so my butt touches my calves; my arms are stretched out above my head. He takes the time to prepare me, with lots of lube, spread up and down my crack and inside, but he doesn't spend a long time: Just enough time.

When he's filling me, I feel complete. I love being filled with Cas, being consumed by him, being owned. I love being his in every way and I love when he reminds me I'm really and truly his by spanking me for no reason: Just because he _can._

His large cock moves over my prostate creating an itchy build. His thrusts are long, quick and maddening, getting me so close yet not quite driving me over the edge until…

"OH… _FU_ ck—Cas!" Yeah, that was me saying that. My mama always said there's a time and place for everything. Swearing now? Totally appropriate. You try not to swear with Cas pounding into you like that.

"Baby… _OH_ …Mhmmm…"

My cock expels onto the sheets, Cas inside me. he pulls me to him, spooning me and leaving his cock inside me. He kisses and sucks my neck. "I love you, Baby."  
"I love you too Cas."

I don't want to leave his arms, but now that our 'Daddy-time' is over, I'm already thinking of Dean. We have a monitor in our room now, I've haven't heard anything yet, but it's his first night in his new room. He didn't want to go to sleep and he didn't want me to leave him there alone. I told him all he has to do is call my name best he can and I'd be there in a flash.

When we're all cleaned up again, I lie back down against his chest.  
"You're a really good Daddy you know."  
"And you're a good Papa, Cass."  
"I couldn't do this without you though, especially now he's so little. I feel like I'm going to break him—you're a natural.  
"Thanks Cassy. I'll remember that for tomorrow."  
"Why? What's tomorrow?

"Dean was too calm about everything today—you know our boy—I think I'm in for a day of laying down Daddy law."  
"How on Earth do you do that without an 18 month old?"  
"Well 18 months old, he may be but he's still a moddler and he's still Dean. I've got a few tricks up my sleeve."

I had to read up on moddlers, but one and a half year olds, I know well. I'm the eldest in a large family—I've helped with lots of babes.

In every case of moddlers, biology and conditioning win out in the end and Dean's there in many ways already. He just needs some good old-fashioned reassurance.

"Well I wish you luck; our boy's stubborn. Better you than me, Baby. Better you than me…"


	11. Dean Vs. Daddy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean's upset with the changes, but he loves his silly parents and that overrides all 'pissedoffeness,' making it easy for him to accept his new self. Daddy tries to lay down 'Daddy Law,' but has to cry Uncle at the end of the day: His baby boy is too sweet for words, even when the Devil's in him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had a comment about my strange soother nickname, 'suckie,' and thought it deserved explaining. That's actually what my mama called it. LOL She's full of stuff like that. I had a soother 'till I was 4 if you can believe it, and the whole while we called it 'suckie.' HAHA. 
> 
> This chapter is looooong, it should have been two, but I LOVE you guys, so I put it all together, so you can have it now. Grab a cup of tea and stay for awhile.

Daddy:  
"Dean Daniel, what have you done, Sur?"

My little boy is looking like he woke up on the wrong side of the bed and apparently decided to take it out on his poor little stuffies. There _are_ a lot; perhaps Cas and I did go a bit overboard. Maybe he's got a point. It would be hard to sleep with all those surrounding you.

The combination of my tone, use of two of his names and, Sur, have him ducking his head a bit, but he's still pouting. I know what to do with a pouty baby.

I pluck him out of his crib before he has any more time to sulk and kiss his face all over again and again and again until he's laughing. I raise him above me with arms straight and bring his face close to mine, slowly, then pretend to eat him and kiss him some more.

He's smiling big at this point, so I put him on my hip. "There's too many in there, isn't there Dean Bean?"

Dean nods.

"Okay—your daddies got a little crazy. We can keep those out. Daddy'll put them away in the closet later. Let's get you changed."  
He wrinkles his nose at that, so I work on distracting him.

"Do you know what we're going to do today?"  
He doesn't answer, but he's curious; I unbutton his sleeper as I say, "After breakfast, Daddy will take you outside; then we'll come in and have lunch, and after your nap, Daddy's going to teach you some sounds. We'll get you talking and we can show Papa your progress after work."

He looks unsure about the talking part. I know it's hard for him.

He lets me take his sleeper off and smooth a hand through his soft curls. "Okay, Dean Bean. Lie back for Daddy."  
His big eyes look unsure. "O-off?" He holds one of his hands up, palm skyward. He's so gosh darned cute; I can barely stand it.

"Yep. Daddy's going to take off your diaper, 'cause you probably peed in this one."  
"O-onn?"

"Good, Dean. That's so good. See? You'll be talking in no time. Yes. On. We're going to put a new diaper on."

He lies back, but there's definite mischief brewing in his eyes. He's going to do something, I'm just not sure what.

I open his diaper and as I thought, it's wet; I don't have more time than that and suddenly Dean is peeing all over the place.

"Ahhhh! Dean!" Thankfully I hadn't taken the wet diaper out from under the little devil yet, so I quickly put the front of it back over his little water fountain. It contains the pee, but he got me good; right in the face and my shirt is full of baby urine.

He's laughing, of course. And it's really hard, because I want to laugh too, but I know I've got to be firm. I keep my voice very serious when I say: "That's not funny Dean Winchester. You got Daddy full of pee. Do you think that was very nice?"

He shakes his head and bites his lip. He probably doesn't even expect it, but I'm sure the sound of my voice is a bit scary, even though I didn't raise it once—well when I scolded him that is. I couldn't help crying out when he peed on me; it was a little shocking.

I let my chastisement sink in for a second, but not too long; even if 'big Dean's' in there somewhat, he's still just a babe; and besides, I can't stand that look on his little face. The difference between Dean and an actual eighteen month old is _he_ can understand _what_ I'm saying; the eighteen month old might, or might only pick up on my tone. For Dean; both parts of him know I'm not pleased.

I wipe the pee off my face with a nearby cloth, but I'm going to have to change my shirt. "That's okay, Daddy knows you didn't really mean to do that—you're going to be my good boy now aren't you?" I'm not a fool. I know he _meant_ to do that, but I'm willing to pass it off as a mistake; let him blame his swirling conflicting emotions.

He nods and tears spill from his eyes. "Oh Dean Bean—" Hmmm… I hadn't meant to be _that_ harsh with him. I pull the twice wet diaper away and put a new one underneath.

"Here. Look at your feetsies baby boy." I pull his foot toward him and he reaches for it, intrigued. "Bet you weren't that flexible when you were older."

He smiles up at me as he discovers his toes and I finish with his diaper. That was a bit of a chance I took, I'll have to remember to have toys near by, or something equally distracting for diaper changes. It's usually babies much younger still interested in their toes, but it had still worked for a couple of my cousins Dean's age, when I was desperate.

I pick up my mostly naked boy, who's still a bit shy after his little prank. "C'mon. Let's find Dean's clothes."

He curls into me, latching on like he did yesterday. "Are you going to be Daddy's Kling-on again today?" I say moving to the closet; I get a tiny nod.

"Well that's just fine Pumpkin Butter. You can stay with Daddy all day if you need to—you'll feel more comfortable in your own skin eventually."  
I've dealt with lots of clingy babies—they just need assurance; to know their full time caretaker's not going anywhere.

"Let's see. I know, how about dinosaurs?" I tease him. He pops out from the cave he's made in my neck.

"Ba-ad," he says pointing to his crib.

"I know. Daddy put dino sheets in there and you don't like them," I say laughing. "How about we change those sheets tomorrow, huh? Daddy put those in long before he met his baby. Daddy sent Papa to buy you new ones while you were out cold."

He nods smiling.

"But back to clothes. How about we go plain today. Some sweats and a blue t-shirt?"  
That's Dean's lounging style, I know. I can see he likes that idea—I knew he would.

I dress him and since the house is warm I leave his little toes bare—better for him to walk around on our mostly hardwood and marble floors—and we head downstairs for breakfast with Papa.

Cas is all ready for work, the paper in hand. I take a second to admire him looking so sharp in his black suit and navy blue blouse. But his dark eyes catch mine quickly and pull me into the room like magnets.

"Hey Cassy," I say breathless. I can't believe the sight of him can still make me lose my breath after all these years. The effects of the spanking he gave me last night are gone, but my body remembers; looking at him sets my cheeks tingling again; dear Lord, I'm getting hard.

"Hey, Baby," he says as I lean in for a kiss. "Heya Kiddo. What's all over Daddy's shirt?"

Fudge. I meant to change that. "It's nothing, Cas. Dean had a little accident."

"You're a horrible liar, Baby."  
How does he always know?

Dean's already clutching into me further hiding his face from Papa—Papa's scolding voice is a whole lot scarier than mine. It's a strange quality Cas' voice has—he's had it since I can remember and we were just kids when we met; it's a voice you just don't mess with. One meant to be obeyed.

"He peed on me—it's just a little pee. Dean and I already talked about it didn't we Dean?"  
Dean nods, but Cas can't see.

Cas is not impressed, but he's somewhat following my lead. He helped me a lot with my cousins and siblings, but I was the one in charge in that realm. As much as I don't want to do this, it's probably better that Dean understands his Papa and I are a team, so long as Cas isn't too hard on him.  
"Go see Papa for a minute, Sugar. Daddy needs to change his shirt." I practically have to pry him from me, but he goes.

~SDC~

Dean:  
"Uh!" I'm on Papa's lap, but I'm pointing at Daddy as he walks away from me and damn it, I can't help stupid tears from flowing out of my eyes.

"Daddy's going to be back in a minute—you and I are going to have a chat."  
Aw crap. I knew I shouldn't have done that, peed on Daddy, but it was pretty damn hilarious, wasn't it? Couldn't Papa see the hilarity in it? I knew Daddy wanted to smile—he was holding back.

Besides. I couldn't help myself. I woke up in a bad mood; frustrated because I don't like sleeping alone in that crib. Daddy said I couldn't have a big bed yet, because he's afraid I'll fall out of it, fine; can't I just sleep with them every night?

And I know what you're thinking: "How are they supposed to 'get it on' with you in the middle Dean? They're grown men, of course they're sexing it up every night."

But I'm not much in a mood to feel sorry for them and their sexual needs, and I don't know why. It's not like any of this is their fault, but I've got no one else to take it out on…

Anyway, they can go without sex a couple of nights, 'till I 'feel better in my own skin,' like Daddy said.

I can't say any of this of course—I can't fucking talk, so instead I threw stuffed animals out of my crib. It was real hard at first, but my punch-throwing arm didn't fail me. They weren't major league throws, but they did the job.

Then Daddy was all nice and said he'd put them away, basically take them out of my sight—yeah I felt like a major dick; not long enough to not pee on him. I have a feeling though, I'm about to feel a whole lot more like a dick. Papa loves Daddy and me both—a lot. He doesn't take kindly to people being jerks to the people he loves; the same rules go for me to Daddy.

He moves his plate over and sits me in front of him so I can look into his scary eyes.  
"I don't know what you have planned for Daddy today, Dean, but that was too far. If you need to vent your frustrations, I understand, but not like that. Daddy and I love you. Do you understand Papa?"

Papa gives 'old Dean' a lot more credit than Daddy does. For the first time, I'm not sure if he should. Papa hasn't even raised his voice, and I feel upset by his tone alone, never mind the words he's said.

The tears that welled when Daddy walked away spill over; I nod and reach for him—it's an I'm sorry, best I know how to say. Papa grabs for me right away and holds me like I'm something special. "I didn't think I could love anything as much as your Daddy, Dean. But I do."

I know that wasn't to make me feel bad, but I do. I shouldn't take my frustrations out on Daddy and Papa, but I'm so fucking mad. When Big Dean got mad, he pounded first and asked questions later. But I ain't exactly got what's required for pounding right now, and I refuse to cry about it. And before you say it, I'm crying over something different currently.

I pull back to look at Papa. He starts wiping tears out of my face with his thumb.

"Okay, little monster. Enough tears. You be a good boy for your Daddy today."

I always _try_ to be a good boy; I can't help it if stuff gets in the way of that. I nod anyway.

"How come my little boy's got tears?"

It feels like an explosion of sunshine in my chest, because Daddy's back! And before you make fun of me for being a sappy freak, I'd like to see you run around with a bucket load of 'little-person' emotions. You'd be a whole lot worse, I promise; I've kept lots of tears at bay.

"Uh!" I point and scramble to get back to Daddy. Papa hands me over.

"Dean and I had a little chat," Papa tells him once I'm safely back to his arm and clinging onto Daddy for dear life. Not because I'm scared of Papa—well I mean he's sometimes a bit scary, but I'm glad he knocked some sense into me on this one—but because I have to make sure Daddy's not going to leave me again. He can take me with him wherever he goes.

"Cas," Daddy scolds him. "Go easy on him—he's having a tough time."  
Papa puts his hands up in surrender. "Whoa Mama Bear, I did go easy on the cub."

But then I see something I never thought I'd see, Daddy _glaring_ at Papa. And I mean, a crossroads demon's got nothing on that glare; even more shocking, Papa looks a little scared. He turns away from Papa and moves with me to the fridge to get… a bottle?

"Baby, I'm sorry. He understood me—big Dean's knows better than—"  
"We talked about this Castiel Grace, while that may be true, he's got too many little-guy emotions running around inside him for us to rely on 'Big Dean' knowing better."  
I have to bury my head further into Daddy, so they don't see me trying to contain my laughter. Daddy's mad at Papa—something I've never seen, well, not really—and it's Papa that's scared. You should see the look on his face; it's priceless. And Grace? Papa's middle name is Grace? Isn't that a girl's name? That's fucking hilarious.

"Look, he's terrified," Daddy says as he does something with the bottle; I can't really see; my head's too far up his neck, I'm biting my hand to keep from laughing.

"I didn't mean to, Baby. In my defense I told him how much we both love him."

Daddy sighs. His hand must be bottle free now, because he's carding it through my hair. I can't believe how kick-ass Daddy is—he took Papa down with only a few words; and he's pretty much groveling; I didn't think anyone could do that to Papa. I really hope Daddy doesn't find out I'm laughing.

Papa comes up to put his arms around us both. "Papa's too harsh sometimes. Can both my boys forgive me?"

"Of course, Cassy," Daddy says. "Dean Bean?"  
Finally I can lift my smiling face to Papa. I keep one hand gripped onto Daddy's shirt, so they know I'm not leaving Daddy and reach the other to Papa's face to smooth along the skin of his cheek. He snuggles his face in for a kiss.

"Okay, I've got to say goodbye early—can't stay for breakfast today. Office called while you were upstairs with Dean."  
"Bummer. But what about your breakfast, Cassy?"  
"I got Chef Andrew to do me up one of those breakfast wraps to go. There's stuff in the oven for you and Dean."  
"All right. We'll see you for dinner. Love you, Cas."

"Love you too, Mama Bear."  
Daddy rolls his eyes.  
"Bye Baby Boy," Papa says to me with a last kiss to my crown. Daddy and I wave goodbye.

Soon as he's gone Daddy turns to me. Oh Fuck. That's not a promising look. He turns my chin up to make sure I'm looking right at his eyes. "Daddy's no fool Dean Winchester. I have my own reasons for doing that. You pee on me on purpose again; I _will_ sick Papa on you; understand Mister?"

Oh did I. Daddy may be a push-over with some things, but even he's got limits. If I could, I would have said, 'yes, sir.' Obviously I can't but as it was, I have some making up to do, so I say: "Dah…hee…" and smile as fucking cute as I can.

Daddy shakes his head in disbelief but he's smiling. "Daddy's got a little con-artist on his hands. A darn cute one. Okay, Dean Bean, since Papa's gone, let's go somewhere more comfortable to drink this."

I remember my promise to Papa, so I don't react and do what I want to do, which is knock the damn bottle out of his hand when I see it, but I do pout and draw my eyebrows together to form the Dean-patented scowl.

"That would work a whole lot better if you weren't cute as a button, Muffin-stuff."

 _Muffin stuff?_ Daddy's nicknames are getting worse.

He takes me to the couch in the living room; I can see he's still working on his patch-project; a bunch of my shirts are piled up on the opposite side of the couch from where Daddy sits us, along with a stack of little patches.

He cuddles me to him, laying me facing up in the crook of his arm. "Just try it, Dean. You like your suckie, maybe you'll like this too, huh?"  
Why does everyone around here think I like that thing? 'Cause I don't.

Daddy brings the thing to my lips and I think about spitting it back out, but I take Daddy's suggestion and just try it, for him. I can't resist his face when it's like it is now. If you ask me, Daddy's the con-artist. You know? Takes one to know one and all that…

As I suck, it feels and tastes familiar even though I'm pretty sure I've never had this before—I do remember them saying they fed me bottles when I've been out, maybe this is what they fed me. There is a strange comfort in it. And it tastes fucking good.

"I probably won't feed you a bottle 'till your naptime in future, and this is something you most likely can still feed yourself, but well… okay, Daddy should tell the truth—I couldn't wait Dean. Thanks for letting me do this, sweetheart. It means a lot to Daddy."

Whoa. Good call Winchester. I would've hated to disappoint Daddy on something he wants that badly.

And I don't mind it so much. I lay and suck and Daddy smiles down at me. His hair suddenly looks interesting; I reach my hand up to grab at the long dark locks and jarringly move it around.  
"Are you playing with Daddy's hair, sweetheart?"

I nod, dumbly because, of course I am; he can see me. It's not like I had to answer that question.

When I'm finished, it's back to the kitchen for some real breakfast. He sets me up in that damn highchair again; I'd rather sit with Daddy. I rest a hand under my chin, my elbow on the tray.

"Here. You chew these careful, now."  
Daddy's got some kind of Cheerios he dumps on my tray, but I've learned quick that Daddy and Papa aren't the type to have Cheerios in their house. These are probably some kind of 'Organic-O's' crap. But I'm surprised they have any kinds of cereal at all and that Daddy's feeding it to me. I'll take what I can get. I asked for cereal once and both Daddies said 'no way' and that 'cereal was just junk.'

He sees the surprise in my eyes. "Yeah, Daddy doesn't like to give his Dean too much cereal, but we decided to get you this for sometimes."  
Ahhh, I see. Probably as a bribe. I'll take it. Nothing wrong with bribes.

I happily pick up one little 'O' and put it in my mouth. "I realized that these would be pretty easy for you to eat on your own. Good practice. Don't get too used to them Mister."

But I barely hear him. I'm lost in cereal land. These are rad. It's enough to distract me while Daddy retrieves his breakfast from the oven.

Daddy keeps adding things to my tray I can pick up and I forget all about being upset. It's actually kinda fun getting to eat with hands.

Daddy eats with me; actually, much of the stuff he gives me comes from his plate: There's scrambled eggs, ham, fruit and toast. I get to drink some kick-ass, homemade mango-orange juice. "There's the smile I love. I bet I could keep you happy all day with food alone."

Probably.

Things are looking up again for the one, Dean Winchester. As Daddy wipes my hands and face with a warm cloth and takes me outside. I start thinking this day might be all right. But then I pee in my diaper without even thinking about it.

And I lose my shit.

~SDC~

Daddy:  
Right. So far my little monster's thrown all his stuffies out of his crib, peed on me, and earned himself a telling off from Daddy _and_ Papa.

I know much of that is to do with his mood, which is a bit of a roller coaster. He's been pouty and scowlly and upset over the stuff I'm sure he considers the 'baby stuff' but I've done a fairly good job distracting him.

So far I've got the score at Dean 4: Daddy 4. A tie. But the day's still young. He hasn't used his diaper yet. Or let me rephrase that; he hasn't used his diaper while awake yet.

Yesterday he'd somehow, mostly, managed to pee in his diaper whenever he was asleep. He'd fallen a sleep for some of the trip in the Impala. When he peed before bed, he was so tired—despite him fighting sleep with every fiber of his being until ten o'clock—and he'd peed without thinking; just like a little boy in diapers would.

But today Dean is fully awake and aware.

I put his messy tray to the side, pull him out and try setting him down. He screams; his eyes tear immediately. "Okay, okay. You can stay with Daddy, sweetheart."

Mad at me for even trying to put him down, he narrows his brow at me and digs his little hands into my t-shirt. I wipe the lone tears away for him. I give a look to the messy tray; I don't like to leave those kinds of messes for the staff, but I will today, since Dean's being so clingy. I could do it all one handed, not hard to do; it would take me ages though, so I opt out deciding Dean needs another distraction.

And maybe if he's distracted, he'll go pee like he probably needs to.

"All right monkey, we're going outside today. How about that?" Trouble is momentarily averted; his expression transforms into the question of 'outside?'

"Yep. I'll show you something fun," I say with a wink.

It's a warm day. We don't need jackets, but I do put socks and shoes on my little guy. He watches me, fascinated with shoes like he's never seen them before, but I know it's because they're kinda cool. "Uh!" He says, pointing and smiling.

"They're pretty sweet, aren't they Dean Bean?" I say using an expression I know he's fond of. They're a mini pair of Nike kicks Cas found. "Papa _can_ be pretty cool you know."  
He's distracted enough I'm able to set him down long enough to put on my own shoes; he's stomping around in them. "Uh!" He says again, which I know means 'look Daddy!'

"I know, Sweetheart. You're pretty stylin'. You gonna talk like a cave-man all day though?"  
"Uh!" He says again, but this time his little arms are lifted straight in the air, asking to be picked up.

"Say, 'up,' 'ahhh-p,'" I sound out for him.  
"Uh!" He says stubbornly.

"Okay, you don't have to say it. But how about Dean and Daddy holds hands and walk together outside, huh?"  
"NO! Uh!" He says clear as a bell, still reaching, but now he's stretching his whole body upward.  
Why is it babes never have a problem saying the word no? I have a bad feeling I know what I'm going to hear a lot of today. He looks quite pleased with himself that he can say something _and_ that's he's communicated two things: One thing he wants, one thing he doesn't want, so effectively.

I sigh and pick him up. "You're a Monkey," I tell him, but I don't really mind. I'd snuggle him like this all day. I'm only trying to get him to do stuff on his own in the first place for _his_ benefit. Still, I think now it's fair to say we're at Dean 5: Daddy 4.

I'd been dying to show him this for some time now, but with everything's that's gone on, one thing would always lead to another and this would get missed. Another thing I'd swindled Cas into building, before we'd ever found out about Dean; when we began talking about having a family—a playground.

It's a whole playground. Not just a couple swings and a slide, but everything you can imagine. I had it custom designed; yeah, I tend to go overboard with these things. But Cas isn't guilt free either. He got excited too and jumped in with several ideas of his own we _had_ to add.

We both reasoned we could have huge birthday parties for our child here. But that was all just us trying to make ourselves feel better about being crazy—we were just too excited about starting our family with no one around to talk sense into us.

But I can't bring myself to care at our lunacy when I see Dean's eyes as he looks out at the fantastic array of colored slides, tunnels, swings, monkey bars, teeter totters and other fun stuff.

"Uh!" Dean says pointing. In other words 'look!'  
"That's all for you sweetheart. You wanna play?"  
He nods, not at all realizing that he's just got excited over a kid's playground.

I'm just about to congratulate myself, by giving me another point on the Dean vs. Daddy scoreboard, but I make the mistake of putting him down, only have him try running for the first time, not remembering that: A; he can't run let alone walk all that well and B; the terrain is those little pebbley-rocks you typically find in playgrounds, so it doesn't help the not being able to walk well thing.

He does a stupendous face plant and I do the thing you should never do in front of a toddler who's just fallen: I freak out.

"Sweet Lord! Dean, baby! Are you okay?" How many times have I watched a little one fall? How long have I practiced the whole 'keep it cool' visage until baby tells you if he's okay or not? And I completely lose that cool when it happens to my own kid for the first time. Way to go Winchester.

He's looking at me quiet as a mouse, still as stone for a heartbeat, until he sees how upset I am—then he takes a deep breath and starts howling.

"Fudge." It's really hard not to swear when I'm freaking out about him, but I manage one of my more kid-friendly phrases. I scoop him up and look at him all over—he looks fine, not a scratch on him, he didn’t land nearly as hard as that looked.

I curl him to me and bounce him gently, letting him cry until his sobs turn to sniffles. "Are you okay Baby Boy?"  
He nods and moves to rub his eyes, but they're all dirty from the rocks, so I stop him—that's all I need is rock dust in his eyes and of course 'cause I was so darned excited to bring him out here, I failed to bring anything with us, thinking I'd just go back in the house if I needed anything. I didn't expect to have to go back in the house so soon.

Not willing to in back just yet, I set him down on one of the park-style benches and crouch down to his height as I remove my shirt and begin wiping his tear-streaked face then his dirty hands. I leave my shirt off and tuck it into my jogging pants, so I can tend to Dean, picking him up as I stand up since he still looks traumatized.

"Daddy's got something for you," I say and pull the something out of my pocket; I didn't come completely unprepared. As much as he tries to hate his soother, his eyes are clearly filled with relief at seeing the thing. He lets me pop it in his mouth, opening for it without any prompting.

He starts sucking on it hard and fast for a moment until his little heart stops racing.

"There you go. You're okay Dean Bean. Not even a scratch. Daddy's sorry he freaked and scared you."  
He nods, contentedly sucking.

I look around, to belatedly make sure there wasn't too many staff around. I'd made my decision to stay outside and simply use my shirt as a cloth for Dean without thinking it through. Cas would most likely never find out I'd been shirtless where anyone could see for a couple minutes, but I'll have to tell him anyways, those are both rules. He's not overly fond of me strutting around topless when he's not around. Our rules are not just for my benefit; but Cas' too. There are a few that we have meant to keep Cas' jealousy at bay.

He's not proud of it. He's worked on it a lot; he used to be much worse and for the most part you almost wouldn't notice his jealousy anymore—unless you're me. I know Cas better than anyone; I know Cas better than Cas knows Cas, which is why it was my idea to make the rule in the first place.

He tried so hard not to freak out over little things like that—people seeing my bare body, but he really does. It drives him crazy, not in a very good way. When he's with me, he doesn't care. He's happily paraded me around clubs naked, plenty, but without him is a whole other ball game. Let's just say there's been a few instances and I decided making it a rule would be to both our benefit. A second rule I have; I must tell him if I break any rules. Not telling him is considered lying.

Either way, I should put my dirty shirt back on before someone does see me. "Okay, Dean Bean. Let's try this again. Daddy'll put you down then we'll hold hands to cross the rocks, 'till you get your bearings a bit, okay? Daddy's got to put his shirt back on."  
I set him down, but baby boy doesn't take his eyes off me, and clutches onto my pant-leg. I hastily put my shirt back on.

I do it out of respect for Cas, not because I'm scared of consequences. I'll only end up with a spanking, which yes, I'd like to avoid, but it's not as bad as that tension that takes over his body and bewildered look in his eyes. He _hates_ that he feels _that_ possessive, and when he feels that way it only makes him more angry with himself—it breaks my heart to see him angry with himself, especially when something so simple can be done to avoid all that.

Dean lets me take his hand and takes a wobbly, careful step over the rocky ground. It will be good exercise for him, so I continue to encourage him even though he keeps looking up at me like maybe he doesn't want to do it. "C'mon Dean Bean. That's it, just go slow baby—you fell because you were going too fast, not because you can't do it."

"Ba-ad," he stops to say pointing at the rocks, and clearly not wanting to blame himself for running to fast. I try not to laugh, but I do roll my eyes and shake my head.

"Yeah, bad rocks."

We make it to the slide and he gets frustrated because he can't climb the ladder real well. I help him of course, but he's whiney and complainey, never actually using real words of course, just mumbled gibberish, but at least he's 'talking.' I understand him fine.

I'm tall enough and this section of the playground is short enough, I can stand by the side and help guide him to the top of the slide, where he's able to sit down himself. Before he pushes off, I see a bit of 'little-boy' fear cross over his eyes. He looks to me. "I'm right here, sweetheart."

My reassurance fuels him and the 'Big Dean' bravery is there, rather, it's not Big Dean, but just Dean. I'm certain my boy always has been and always will be a courageous, fearless being. I'm going to have my hands full when he's a teenager again.

With a mighty push, he's barreling down the small slide and laughing, already scrambling to get off, so he can do it again. "Uh!" He's saying, pointing and walking too quickly, unassisted. This time when he falls, though my heart squeezes for a quick second, I don't make a big deal and say, "slow down, Sur."

Since I don't make a big deal, neither does he, getting up, brushing the rock dust from his hands by smoothing them across the other and on his pants—he's going to be a dirty little fella after we play.

After seven more slides down the slide and four falls into pebble rocks, I decide to take Dean over to the swings. As I pick him up, I try to check his diaper, subtly for any signs he's used it. That ticks him off.

"No!" He says and though I want to laugh at him, 'cause he's so cute when he says anything, I make my voice stern to say, "Daddy has to check Mister."

He responds to the stern tone in my voice and looks sorry for telling me no, I kiss his head so he knows he's forgiven. "I can ask you, but I thought that would be more embarrassing for you—what if someone hears me, hmmm?"

I can tell he hasn't thought of it that way.

"If that's what you want, Daddy doesn't mind to do that. Would you like me to ask you from now on?"  
"No," he says shaking his head.

Dean 5: Daddy 5.

Wanting to forget about diapers, he points to the swings, "uh!"

"Okay, my little caveman. Let's go swing." I put him into the baby swing and start pushing him, making him laugh by giving him a few, not too high, but high enough he feels his stomach drop, under ducks.

I don't want to do that to him too much, so I settle on gentle pushes. Of course Dean is kicking his legs and feet wanting to go higher, so I indulge him a little. Eventually he tires of the swings; I set him down on the ground again, so he can explore. I have to stay really close to him both because if I get too far away from him, he uses his caveman grunting to demand I stick beside him and I think I've become a bit of a 'hover-mother.' It looks so darn scary when he falls, even if it doesn't end up in stitches.

He checks out some of the other playground stuff, but of course, settles for playing in the rocks—so like a kid, all this great stuff, and he wants rocks.

I'm not too thrilled. I know he won't put them in his mouth, at least I think he won't and besides, he's got his soother in there, but he's currently sitting in them, getting dirtier and dirtier. I let him anyway knowing it's irrational to obsess over a child getting dirty, both him and his clothes can be washed.

I'm sitting near him, watching him, but for the most part, he's lost in a game by himself and it makes me happy, because finally Dean's starting to let go and be a kid, a pre-toddler no less.

Suddenly his head snaps up to me and I know what's happening; he's peeing—he didn't mean for it to happen, caught up in his game as he was, which drives it home for him how much he really is a baby boy. He immediately starts wailing.

"It's okay, baby. C'mon, let's go get you changed sweetheart. Besides, I think it's time for lunch and then a snooze anyway." We'd been out here awhile. Maybe some of his upset comes from being tired.

But when I go to pluck him up, he grabs a handful of rocks, throws them at me and screams, "No!"

His temper tantrum doesn't end there. He lays back and starts rolling in the rocks, his soother falling out, he pounds on ground, screaming bloody murder.

It's very classic of an eighteen month old. Most people think temper tantrums start during the supposed 'terrible twos,' but more often than not, they begin at age one; I've seen enough to know. So as I watch him freak out, which, sorry Dean it's both funny and adorable, I think that it's great he can really tap into the erratic emotions of the eighteen month old he's becoming.

Like I would with any other eighteen month old, I wait in silence, letting him get out his frustrations and take out his anger on the ground instead of me. When he's all tired out, he's sniffling with little sobs of "Dah-deee… D _ah_ -heee…"

That's when I reach down to retrieve my little monster. He lets me but he's still pissed. He points to his soother, "uh!"

I'm surprised and not surprised. It's the first time _he's_ asked for it; but he knows it's no secret, how much it soothes him. I pick it up off the dirty ground. "I know, Baby. You want your suckie, but it's all dirty. We'll go in and get you a new one."

It's _really_ dirty. In all of Dean's smashing, rolling and kicking, it ended up buried and unburied beneath the rocks more than once.

He doesn't want to wait though.

"Uh!" He demands.

"Yes, sweetheart," I coo as I'm already walking with him toward the house. "Daddy's got lots inside.

Not liking that idea one bit, he hits me in the face. It's a pretty good whack for a baby, but it doesn't hurt. That's not the point though; I have to start setting boundaries.

"No," I say stern as I can. "No hitting."  
He knows I'm displeased, so he ducks his head, but he's still upset. Yep, he's hungry and tired. I don't regret not bringing him in sooner; it was good for him to be seriously distracted when he peed his diaper for the first time awake.

He's pretty dirty, but I want to feed him something before I lay him down… maybe just a quick rinse in the tub.

I run some water, just a little—not enough for a full bath and strip him down taking away the soiled diaper, which he's glad for. I pop him the tub with the intention of just taking a cloth and wiping him down, not even planning on washing his hair, but he gets other ideas when he sees his toy car, one made for the bath.

I don't really have much choice. If I don't give it to him, cranky as he is, he'll scream and bathing him will be difficult. If I do I'm going to have to pry it from him too soon also resulting in screaming. Joy. I decide on giving it to him and rinse him quick while he's distracted.

All the while, I've been losing points, I think Dean's at seven or eight, while Daddy's back at five. He's definitely getting away with a lot more than I am setting up 'Daddy Law,' but he's so darned precious. It's probably been official for a while now, but I'm wrapped around his littlest finger and I don't care who knows it.

When I'm done, I lift him out of the bath, letting him have his toy car while I towel him off, but sure enough when I tell him it's time to put bath toys away I get, "no!"

I know I could let him keep it, but Mama taught me to keep firm boundaries, even with little ones. And I've always thought Mama raised me right.

"Time to put the car away, Dean. We're going to eat and then it's time for little boys to take naps."  
"No!"  
Not afraid of a little screaming, I pry the car away, careful of his little fingers. Realizing he's no longer holding the car, he takes one of those deep breaths you know a loud cry is going to follow and doesn't disappoint. This time, it's a tired, fed-up cry. Things aren't going his way; he doesn't know what to do about it.

I reach into the drawer and pull out one of the many soothers there. When we discovered how much Dean liked his soother, we sent Shane out to buy a whole shawhack of them. I've got them in every corner of the house.  
"Here, Pumpkin Butter," I say holding it out for him. Full of surprises, he gladly takes it out of my hand and stuffs it into his own mouth. His poor little face is red, puffy, tear streaked and he's looking to Daddy for help with his spinning emotions.

I keep the towel around my naked little guy and pull him into my arms, telling him what we'll do next, though I am wondering if I should just put him down. I know how much Dean likes to eat though, so I say, "first we're going to get you all dressed in clean clothes. Then we'll eat some lunch and I think Daddy's got a little pie for his Dean Bean."

If I didn't know he was upset before, I know it now; even pie doesn't perk him up like usual.

I pretend not to notice as I make my way to the nursery I try to set him down, which I already guessed wouldn't go over well, but I thought it wouldn't hurt to try. He cries out behind his soother, so I abort that idea.

I talk about what I'm going to dress him in and try to let him pick it out as usual, but he's too unhappy to make any decisions, so I pick for him.

I toss the towel he'd been wearing into the hamper and lay my naked man straight onto a diaper on the change table. "No!" He says when he figures out what I'm doing.

I've heard far too much of that word today. After lunch I'm teaching him something else. "You're wearing a diaper, Sur, if I have to wrangle you into it," I say in my strict Daddy voice and that's exactly what I have to do: Wrangle him into it, but I manage. It will be worth all of the fighting later, when he slips into the role of 'Baby Dean.' Like with peeing today when we were playing, he's bound to do a lot of that, better to avoid an embarrassing accident. Every child is ready for potty training at a different age and I just don't think Dean's ready yet. He thinks he is, but he's just in conflict as some moddlers are, adjusting to his new body and the regressions that come with it.

He's crying again, this time interspersed with muffled 'o-offf's' and 'nooo's.' "Lordy Bee, Dean. It's a whole lot of fuss about nothing." I dress him fast and scoop him up quick. He latches on and stops crying as I rock him a bit in my arms. Lunch is just a bad idea now. Instead I decide on another bottle. His little body is so drowsy from all the tantrums and crying, he can barely keep his eyes open, though he's fighting sleep in true Dean style.

I sing him: Go to sleep, Baby Dean. La la la la, la la la. Close your eyes, rest your head. When you wake up we'll have pie…"  
It's not my best, I know. Barely makes sense, but I always sing him silly songs; he likes that.

He's out before his bottle's done; I'm able to lay him down and man, Daddy's tuckered too. But I've got stuff to do before my little monster wakes.

~SDC~

Dean:  
What the fuck was that? Right?  
As I was saying, I completely lost my shit. When I went pee in my diaper without a thought; so focused on playing, with rocks no less, I realized more than ever how different my body is.

And it seemed like the end of the fucking world.

Worse, I was such a dillhole to Daddy and he was so nice about everything. I totally deserved him scolding me in that scary voice—I don't like Daddy's scary voice.

I look out of my crib and notice all the stuffed animals I threw on the floor this morning are gone—Daddy must've put them away while I slept. I stretch a bit, but still clutch my pale blue, blanket and suck my soother. It was a rough fucking morning, dudes. I decide to lay with my blanket awhile, so I flop back down on my back and look up. The stupid dino mobile is gone—wow I must have been out for Daddy to do all that without me waking.

I feel even more like an ass. Daddy did all that for me and I threw rocks at him.

I'm going to be better for Daddy. He's right. Diapers… don't love'em, but there's worse things, a lot fucking worse. I can hack this for a little while—it's not forever. And I would _hate_ to have an accident in front of people. At least diapers are the 'norm' for babies and moddlers alike. No one will judge me, they'll probably just think I look fucking cute.

"Hey there, Pumpkin. You look to be in better spirits. What were you babbling about?"

I was babbling?

"Uh!" I say, wanting out immediately.  
"Okay, c'mere Caveman." He lifts me out, and checks my diaper probably fully expecting me to freak out, but I don't. That's my 'sorry for being a dillhole, Daddy.'

"All dry baby Dean. Let's go eat!"

Daddy feeds me food and pie and I feel even shittier. He'd pretending like this morning never happened. After lunch, I cling to Daddy even tighter, because of how shitty I'd been to him. It's a weird thing, I know. It's like I'm telling him I'm sorry with snuggles and maybe I'm a little bit worried he's not going to want me for being so naughty.  
I mean, I threw _rocks_ at him.

Daddy doesn't seem the least bit angry though; it's the contrary. I think he thought I didn't like him anymore and he's loving all the cuddles. "Let's go into the playroom, Dean. We'll sit at the table and Daddy'll teach you some words, how's that sound?"

Words? That's too many new things in one day Daddy.

I'm just getting used to this whole diaper thing. I don't know I want to deal with trying words. They're hard—some harder than others. I can say 'no' though, which is fuck awesome.

I decide to use my new word now. "No."  
"Daddy a little bit wishes you couldn't say that word so well."

He takes me to the playroom anyway; I've never seen it before. Most likely because I'd been so insistent that I didn't want kid toys.

He plunks me on a sturdy plastic chair at this little plastic table and he sits too, which I giggle at because Daddy's really big and looks silly all crunched up in the small chair. "You think Daddy's funny?" 

I laugh and nod; Daddy musses my hair. "We'll just do our words for a little while, baby boy, so you can learn something other than no. Your Papa's not going to like that very much."

He tickles my belly. "Uh!" That means 'stop it Daddy.' My grunt is extremely versatile.

"I was trying to remember what my cousins and brothers and sisters used to say when they were your age and I have to admit, my memory is a little foggy, but I think I've got a few we can work on. Let's just try two today. What do you say Dean Bean?"  
I'm not thrilled, but I'll try for him. He's got no idea how hard it is to say shit. Each word I say is work. He can tell I'm not pleased.

"You can already say Daddy pretty well and you've totally got Papa mastered."

That's a gross exaggeration Daddy. You been taking lessons from me?  
"Why don't we work on 'ma' and 'ba? All my youngest family members could say those."  
He pushes my nose like a button and I wrinkle it.  
We begin and right away I don't like it. It's a hard thing to explain. My brain tries to get my mouth to move in the right way, but I can't get the sound to come out and any sounds I can make sound stupid. What do I need to use the 'ma' sound for anyway? It's not like I have a Mama. After fifteen long minutes the best I can do is "Mmmmm—ah… Mmmmm—ah."

Ridiculous.

He decides I've had enough of that one and we move to 'ba.' Daddy looks like a freaking moron saying "bah, baa-aah, baa-aah…" And trying to show me the way his lips move to say the word.

"No," I say frustrated. I don't want to do this anymore. I can't say fucking 'ba' and it's annoying. I rest my elbow on the little table and my chin in my hand. I'm aware it's an adult gesture.  
"I know. It sucks, baby," he sighs. "I'm sorry."  
"Uh," I say reaching for him. He plucks me up right away and stands up bouncing me.

"Okay, enough. I don't mind your cavemanery. You be a caveman as long as you want." He kisses me all over; I smile.

Daddy and I actually have fun playing for the rest of the afternoon. He shows me some toys I like and it's getting close to dinnertime when I pee again. I'm so grateful to him for not dragging out the 'talking-lessons,' I decide to woo him with another Dean Winchester cuteness special. There's something I'm pretty sure I can say.

I'm sitting on the floor, Daddy's on his side curled around me and we're playing with some very, non-age appropriate super hero figures. He warned me that if they go in my mouth, they're history for a year or two, 'cause they've got parts little boys can choke on.

Puh-lease! I'm not going to put stuff in my mouth—that's for really little babies. But when Captain America's arm looked appetizing, I was glad to have my soother blocking the entrance.

Anyways, so we're playing super heroes and that's when it happens; the peeing. I know just what to do.

You ready for this? Cue adorableness.

I turn my hand, palm up and say, "Uh—ooh." How did I know I could say that? Well, we all know I can say 'uh' and I have no problems saying the 'o' sound in 'no,' s'pretty simple when you think about it.

It takes Daddy a second to figure me out, but he does and smiles wide. "That's so good Dean! Daddy's proud of you, pumpkin. Maybe Daddy needs to let you figure out your own words—you're better at it that I am." He grabs me up.

"Tell you what, you promise to be a good boy and Daddy will change your diaper right here on the floor. I've got some stuff in the cupboard."

I nod. And I really do intend on being a 'good boy,' but when he undoes the wet diaper, he realizes he forgot cream for my tush, so when he gets up to go get some… I take off.

I think I'm freaking hilarious running across the playroom, half-naked, my tiny little winky swinging back and forth, my cute ass out for any passing staff to see. I make it to the door before Daddy notices what I've done and hear from behind me: "Dean Winchester!"

He's pretty quick, but I make it out the door, laughing all the way, and run barreling into Papa who scoops me up without missing a beat. "Well look at the jay-bird I found, Daddy."

"Escape-ee is more like it. That was naughty Dean Daniel."  
But I can't find it in me to care and I'm laughing into Papa's neck, my naked ass sitting right on his arm. I lean back to say hello to him. "Hey, Kiddo," he says in his rough voice, carding a hand through my hair.

I smile at him before two large hands snatch me back, Daddy perches my naked ass on his arm, but keeps me facing forward, so I can still see Papa; he leans in to kiss Papa. "Hi Cassy."

"Hey, Baby. How was it today?"

"Good. We're at Dean seventeen and Daddy ten."  
"So much for laying down, Daddy law," he laughs.

Is that what he's been trying to do all day? Yeah. I think I pretty much kicked Daddy's ass today. I laugh.  
"Oh, that's funny, is it?" He doesn't sound mad though. "Lemme get this lil' guy diapered and we'll have dinner, okay Cassy?"  
Papa says okay, but he's looking at Daddy funny, like he's worried about him. I turn my head to look up at Daddy. He looks okay to me, but Papa sees something I don't. I hope I wasn't too hard on Daddy today—I mean it was a pretty cool day even if I have a sucky body that can't do anything.

They're having a wordless conversation again, and Daddy just nods at Papa. I don't miss the tension in Papa's body. I break the tension with an, "uh-oh?"

They both laugh. "Is that what you learned today, Dean?"  
"He did," Daddy answers for me. "Okay, let's get you dressed, Monkey."

But no one's answered my question.

When dinner is done and Daddy finishes giving me a proper bath, Papa asks if he can put me to bed tonight to give Daddy a break. I should care about giving Daddy a break, but the thought of not having Daddy there is not one I want to entertain. "No!" I tell him.

"I see he learned another word today."  
"I didn't teach it to him, believe me. If you think you know a way to 'un-teach' it, let me know."

I may not want to give Daddy the night off putting me to bed, but I can do something. It's hard, but I give in to sleep, so it's not hard for Daddy. I let Daddy's voice wash over me, the warm milk settle heavy in my stomach and drift off easy.

~SDC~

"You broke a rule, Baby."  
It's uncanny how he knows just from a look in my eye and my body language, but he knew soon as he looked at me. I freeze up. I hate disappointing him; I hate the turmoil I'm about to cause him.

I nod. We're in our bedroom. Dean's fast asleep going down easy for me for the first time in a while. I hope that means he's feeling safer.

"I did, Cassy. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to I—"  
"Which one?"

He's on edge. It's why I don't break rules. He feels like he's lost control and Cas must always have control.  
"I took my shirt off earlier." He turns away from me at that and moves to put away his tie in the closet and undress; I'm glad for it. While he does that, it's easier for me to explain the why—when I don't have to look straight into his disappointed eyes. I let it all spill out; every detail.

He stops what he's doing, his whole body frozen in the position he's in when the last word of my explanation falls. He doesn't turn to face me. "You should have brought him inside to clean him up," he says rigidly.

"I know Cas, I wasn't thinking. I'll bring a diaper bag with me wherever I go in future."

He resumes what he's doing, fighting the whole time to keep a grip on the anger I know he wants to unleash, but keep a grip on it he does and when he's finished he finally turns to look at me. "Get me the paddle. You should already be kneeling."

When I break rules, I get flustered and my brain stops thinking, well I am thinking, but it's of Cas—I get insanely worried about him and want to watch him for any signs of a breakdown. 

And just so you're not worried about me, Cas' version of a breakdown is him becoming quiet and closed off. He'd never lose it on me.

But when I'm busy thinking about him, I forget about what I should be doing and believe me, it doesn't make it any better. I've got to focus. Instead of apologizing, I jump into action and retrieve the paddle he wants. There's a particular one we use for rule breaking and it's not nice.

It's rubber and black and the exact length of my bottom. It is on the thinner side, about half the width of my had and it _hurts._ We affectionately call it the 'business' paddle for obvious reasons because it means business. It's not used for any other reason.

I kneel and present it to him. "Please, correct me Cas."

He swallows then nods and takes the paddle from me. He is beyond displeased, but it's different from his anger, which is like white lightening. You never want to see Cas mad. And he wouldn't punish me if he were mad. If any bit of control on the tight leash he keeps around his anger is lost, he wouldn't correct me—he'd want to, but he'd wait.

The term 'correct' is used in our very own context, because clearly I know I broke a rule, I already feel remorse; I've already found a way to not let the same thing happen in future, but he needs to go through the process of a 'correction,' in other words he needs to discipline me to reestablish control.

I need it too. I don't feel resolution over disappointing him until he's corrected me. We both find peace in the act.

The spanking isn't fun. It's nothing like what he gives me when I need release, or for sexual pleasure.

It's hard.

Yeah… Punishment spankings are different. I like pain, but I don't like the pain of these, since I can feel his disappointment with every stroke. The position isn't fun either.

"In position, please."

The one way I did prepare myself: I'm naked and all ready for bed; so all I've got to do is assume the correct position.

I stand up and bend over to grab onto my ankles from behind, my palms spread wide over my calves, legs as far apart as I can get them and still hold a solid position. It's a humiliating position, even after all these years, but the name of the punishment game is deterring, so we decided on this position, since I don't like it.

It also means I have to keep fairly flexible.

He starts with a hefty warm-up, preparing my cheeks for what's to come and he asks me, "did anyone see you?"

"No. No one. I checked." I was certain of that. The amount he relaxes is marginal, but he does relax some. And so do I.

"Good. That's good baby," he's relieved. If someone had seen me, he might go as far as replacing that employee. He's done it before; but he hates having to do that.

When he decides I'm ready, he places the paddle on my tingling bum. "You're getting one hundred, just enough to make sure sitting is unpleasant for a day or so; a good reminder of me for you. Don't count."

I know one hundred sounds like a lot and it both is and isn't at the same time. It's a heavy fine, but it's not anything I can't handle and it will only do exactly that: Make sitting suck tomorrow.

"Are you ready?"  
"Yes, Cas."

The paddle feels almost like wood it's so thick, but it's got some give. Actually I would prefer wood; less sting. And because it runs the length of my bottom it always hits both cheeks. He's still got to change the side he's standing on because it does fall heavier to the side he's standing on and Cas likes to punish each cheek equally. That's a good thing for me. By the time he'll reach half-way on the first side, that cheek will be pretty tender and I'll be fighting not to jump away from it.

He begins with a medium strength and I'm already struggling not to count. Counting gives something else to focus on besides the pain; in other words, how many more until it's over? But Cas _wants_ me to feel this spanking.

I have to bend my knees and shake my legs to move some of the sting around, but I try not to do that too much, Cas prefers I stay as still as possible. He's got a rhythm going, he whacks three times in succession then rubs; the intensity of each spank increases that way.

When he switches sides, I'm relieved, but I'm already crying and gosh darn happy that I've made it half-way.

"You okay, Baby?"

"Fine, Cas," I say sniffling. He gives me a short break before he starts again.

When he's finished, I'm a crying mess, but he doesn't pull me into his arms quite yet. "Bend over the bed Baby. I want to put cream on that right away."  
I do and finish crying into a pillow as he lovingly smoothes aloe over my blazing cheeks. That was intense, for both of us.

All done I help him pull back the covers; I climb inside taking care not to put pressure on my screaming butt; he surrounds me with his body.

We lay there for a time, Cas holding me as I breath through the pain in my bottom, my heart feeling like it's beating there. A good half hour passes, neither of us saying anything until Cas finally admits: "I want to make love to you, Baby. May I?"

He's asking me because he knows how much that will hurt. If I say no, there will be no repercussions for me of course. I can always refuse sex with Cas; though it's hard for me to recall a time I've wanted to. I love sex with Cas as much as he loves sex with me.

He doesn't mind giving me pain though; the contrary; he loves my pain and my screams: A trueborn sadist. I love and take pride in offering that to him; thankfully I like pain to some extent; not enough to call me a 'pain-slut,' but I've definitely got masochistic tendencies.

But he always asks. I know what he needs; he needs to re-establish control in a second way. He relished in being my Dom for this reason and I think Cas was more at ease when we lived that life; we only stopped because we noticed we lost some other aspects of our relationship we enjoyed when there was such strict rules governing us twenty-four, seven. We eased back to what we have now and play only on occasion.

I still have my collar. Which gives me an idea.

"I'm fine with that, Cassy. May I have my collar?"  
"No Sam."  
That's surprises me. "But Cas—you seem… I think it would help."  
"I said no, Samuel." When the heat of that reprimand dies off he says, "I just want to make love to you so bad."

I'm the one with a smacked bottom, but he's the one in the most pain.

I nod.

When Cas makes love to me it's so far removed from the demanding, savage way he usually takes me. Something divine embodies him, like for a time, he becomes an angel; he almost glows.

His body arches over top of me and the kisses he plants along my neck are all worship. He looks at me like he can't believe I'm here with him. When he kisses my mouth he savors.

He draws out preparing me in a way that builds my orgasm before he's even entered me, but when he finally does slide his cock inside of me I'm overcome with love for this man, such that, no matter how far in I try to push him into me, it's like we still can't get close enough; can't be one enough.

It hurts my bottom to be spread like this, but I want to give this to him, so the pain becomes white noise in the background of our moans. This is what ecstasy feels like. Real ecstasy.

We both build a slow orgasm and when it hits us, it's intense and powerful and now I see why he didn't want to give me my collar tonight. He wanted me to feel his love for me; he wanted to feel mine back as strong as possible.

"I'm the luckiest man in the world, Baby."  
"Not half as lucky as me," I say.

"Nope. Can't do that, I said it first."  
I laugh. "You feel better, Cassy?"  
"Much, but, I need you and Dean to stay in for a bit. Just a couple days. Can you do that for me?"  
That means there's still a bit of residual doubt running around in his mind. It will take a couple days to die down I guess. "Yeah, I can do that. Dean might not be happy—he loves the playground we built him."

"I can be home early. We'll take him out together."  
"Okay, Cassy. But the deal is you've got to let it go."

"I will Baby, I don't mean to be so damned jealous—but the thought of someone, looking at you, looking at what's mine…"

He's breathing hard again.

"No one saw. It's over now, Cassy."

"Yeah, I know. But I wish… I wish I didn't feel like this; it isn't normal."

I won't let this eat at him. "The only thing not normal is going to be the taste in your mouth if you say that again—I will wash it out Castiel Grace."

"Okay, Mama Bear. I'm sorry. No more self-pity—but thank-you for doing that for me. I do feel a lot better."

I kiss him. "All right. Sleep now—that boy's exhausting! You should see the tantrums he throws."

"I'm sure I will, Baby."

~SDC~

I'm going to tell you something and if you say one word about it, I will find a way to punch you in the face. I'm playing with blocks; yes they're fucking kid's blocks. And contrary to all belief, I'm having a hard time staying the fuck awake. I just woke up too; well that was a few hours ago, but I can't imagine making it much longer without a little… without resting my eyes.

Much as I try to deny it, my little body gets tired way faster than it used to. And I mean even faster than when I was a four-fiveish year old. I keep trying to convince Daddy that I don't need naps, but sure enough, my eyes droop and I'll fall asleep at wherever I'm playing only to wake up in my crib.

It's been a couple of days; I've had some time to try out stuff with this body. Walking sucks. I'm trying to get better. I'm okay at it I guess, but I fall lots. Daddy is very encouraging, but sometimes his overly positive, chipper voice is unappreciated.

Least I can be a little away from Daddy now. I stuck to him like glue for the first day, and he completely indulged me; by the second day, he still let me cling to him if I really needed it, but he was attempting to encourage me to do some things on my own, with him on the sidelines, never too far away. And if I was really worried, he would say, "how about Daddy and Dean do it together?"  
I'm okay with that.

Today, I'm not clung to him, but I still keep a really close eye on Daddy.

Right now he's dusting, which I think is absurd. He doesn't need to dust, we have house staff who do those things, but Daddy claims he likes to dust and that his fingers need a break from sewing anti-demon possession charms onto my clothes. So play blocks with me. Why dust?

I like watching Daddy. He's pretty silly right now dancing to his strange music and singing.  
"Jones. Jones. Calling doctor Jones. Doctor Jones. Jones get up now."  
See? Ridiculous. I let out a cute little baby laugh from behind my soother—yeah even I gotta admit it's damn cute.

"Is Dean laughing at Daddy?" He turns around. I nod and get up from the floor and take shaky steps over to him thinking maybe there's something I don't know about dusting; Daddy's making it look like such a good time. Maybe it's better than blocks?

Daddy's always telling me to slow down—that I wouldn't fall so much if I'd just slow down—but I gotta go fast; I'm always trying to run. His breath catches when I face plant, but he tries to act like it's no big deal. You know how little people look to their parents to see if they should cry or not? Yeah. I do that now; ask me how pleased I am about that little development. The answer is not at all.

I fall enough both Papa and Daddy learned what they should do. They wait and see if I'm okay. Nine times outta ten I am. But if they give me even the slightest inclination that they think I'm not okay, I believe them and wail. Clearly they know something I don't.

He shakes his head when I get up and continue to make quick, toddley steps over to him.

"Uh!" I say pointing at his duster. I still refuse to talk much.

"You want to help Daddy dust my little caveman?"  
Uh yeah, that's what I said.  
"I don't know. You look a little sleepy over there playing with those blocks. I think it's time for a nap."

I shake my head and point at the duster again, "Uh!" I want one of those.  
"Okay, I'll give you a duster, Dean Bean. But that means you have to dance with Daddy."

Dance? To this 90's Aqua-crap? Forget it. Before I can run away though, Daddy grabs me.

"Please, Dean Bean?" He gives me those damn puppy eyes and I hate him, but nod putting my hand out and expecting him to give me a duster of my own. He's got one of those little 'french-maid' sorta ones, for me.

I can't dance well, but I'm able to wiggle my ass in time with the music, Daddy's laughing, stupidly happy—total worth me looking like a moron. He's pressed repeat and the song's started over, he's singing his heart out.

It's all I seem to care about these days: Making my silly parents happy. I'm slowly getting over my initial pissedoffness (that is too a word) over this whole thing; but I'm still going to kill Crowley soon as I'm able.

I think getting over wearing a diaper is a pretty big deal—Daddy and Papa seem to think so anyway. I've realized there's a lot of up sides to wearing diapers. You can pee… and the other thing, whenever, wherever; you don't have to stop what you're doing.

Without going into too much detail and only because I'm sure you're curious, I finally did do… the other thing. It wasn't as hard as I thought it was going to be since I don't feel embarrassed about these things in front of my Daddies anymore. They do so much for me already; it just doesn't bother me so much. I was a little embarrassed the first time I… well… you know, but Daddy really helped me, he still does by distracting me during diaper changes, he's really good at it.

Papa wanders into the living room. He's been coming home early these past two days. I like it. It's even more fun when we're all together.

"What on Earth, Sam? Did Daddy make you dance to this, Kiddo?"  
I nod enthusiastically. I'm kinda into it now.

"C'mon Cassy, dance with us. Dean's going down for a nap soon," he says winking. Daddy's conspiring! I bet he's trying to tucker me out, as he would say. I turn to glare at Daddy, but it's probably hard to take a baby holding a duster seriously.

"I've got a better idea. How about Dean… and Daddy let Papa put Dean down for his nap and I'll sing Dean a special song."

Daddy's pouting. "Well… I want to hear the song too."  
And probably Mama bear doesn't want to be too far away from his cub. I hear Papa say that lots.

"You can come hear it, but I get to rock Dean. What do you say, Kiddo?"  
I'm a little unsure, but if Daddy's going to be there, I guess that would be all right. I don't really want to take a nap, but I am tired and I want to hear Papa sing.

Papa scoops me up and Daddy says to him, "check his diaper, would you Cas? I'll grab a bottle and be right up."  
I feel a tug at Daddy leaving my sight, but before I can get too upset, Papa's distracting me.

"C'mon little cowboy—Papa's going to sing you a special song," he reminds me.

After checking to see if I'm wet, but finding me dry, Papa knows to grab my blue blanket out of the crib, so I can snuggle it; he takes my soother out, which I'm not too pleased about, but it's fast replaced by a bottle.

"What you gonna sing him, Cas?" Daddy asks from the floor. There isn't another chair in the nursery, so Daddy has to settle for the floor by Papa's knee; he doesn't seem to mind.

"This is Daddy and Papa's song, Kiddo. I hope you like it."

Daddy was right. His voice is okay, but Papa's; I'm surprised he doesn't have his own record label; fuck, he's good.

The song is a George Straight song, in case you want to know: 'What'll you say to that.'

I won't bore you with the lyrics, but sappy as it is, it's nice and I totally see why it's 'their' song. With his gravely voice sanded smooth as he sings and combined with the gentle sway of the rocking chair, it's impossible not to fall right to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you're interested: The whole 'Dean being a caveman' was inspired by my nephew who is currently 2. When he was 'Dean's age' there was a bunch of stuff he could stay, but he opted for grunting 'Uh!' and pointing to get what he wanted instead realizing us adults anticipated his needs fairly well. My mama called him her little caveman. lol 
> 
> Hope you liked it!


	12. Daddy and Dean's Day Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam decides it's time to take baby out to meet other kids like him. But it's never just a normal day when your baby is Dean Winchester.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You're either going to love or hate Cas after this. 
> 
> I'm sorry that a couple of the "Cas" paragraphs are still awkward, but I wanted to get this posted. Hopefully the story and the smut will distract you.
> 
> I also want to note for all you firearm enthusiasts, I'm well aware that Colt and Winchester are not the world's largest gun companies at the moment, but in my little world here they are. LOL. 
> 
> Last thing, sorry for mistakes. I edited super quick. 
> 
> Thanks again for all the kind words! I love writing for y'all! Enjoy!

"You know, Cassy… the baby's in bed early tonight." Sam's already tugging at my belt, undoing it, my cock is hard at the prospect of what he's got planned and shining in his eyes.

I pull him in by the lapels of his open, button up shirt and kiss him hard. "Yeah, Baby, I know. Why did you put him down so early?"

"Mmmm…." He moans into my mouth. "He." Kiss. "His body's still," kiss. "Cas! You want to know or not?"

"Sorry, Baby."  
"His body's still getting over the change, he was a cranky, clingy boy today. Better than yesterday though."  
"Yeah. I noticed. It seems to be taking longer this time."  
"His body's smaller is why—oh Lord, he's so little, Cas. He breaks my heart every five minutes."  
"He sure loves his, Daddy."  
"And his Papa—it's just, I'm with him full-time…"

"I know, sweets. I'm not jealous… well maybe just five percent jealous, but I'm ninety-five percent happier to see him cling to you like a little monkey."

He laughs. "I'd be lying if I said I didn't love it, but I know I've got to encourage him to be on his own."

"Take your time. You've got lots of time for him to be independent of you and only this small time for him to latch on."

"He watches me real close when I put him down—it's so cute, like he's on a Daddy stakeout. He thinks I don't see him doing it."

"I know. At dinner, when you got up to get him more mashed potatoes, he wouldn't eat a bite 'till you got back. He wasn't very subtle, twisting around in his chair to see where Daddy went. I think he was even trying to say 'gone.'"

"I thought I heard something. Is that what he said?"  
I knew that would make him smile. "Pretty sure. It wasn't so clear. But it was a lot like how he says 'on' with a guh in front of it; a bit muffled though."  
"Sounds like. Darn. I wish I hadn't missed that."

I'm laughing now. "You do miss a lot…"  
He's working on my belt again and has it yanked out of my pant loops only to loop it around my neck. "Oh hush—no making fun of me."

In a quick movement, I spin Sam such that _I_ have the belt and _he's_ at my mercy, the belt _just_ too tight around his throat, so he has to press up on his tip-toes not to be choked. Welcome to the weird dichotomy that is Sam: Sweet potato pie that likes to be cut with the sharpest of knives. He likes freedom _within_ rules; the thrill of danger as long as I'm the one that's keeping him dangling over the edge of a skyscraper.

It's hard to be away from him after what happened; the whole 'shirtless incident.' You may think that's nothing; to most people it is nothing, but to me… Would it be too clique to say it's everything? It's the same reason our history is jaded.

I'm a 'controlled' man, like my father; it's something he taught me; mostly through observation, but some by upbringing, which might sound the same, but isn't.

My father thought someone should make the final decisions for the family whether it be the man or the woman. That's how it was for him and my mama—my mama agreed to follow his lead. It never made Mama weak, just the opposite; it made her stronger. It's done the same for Sam.

In addition my father's need for control, I inherited his temper… and therefore I require control all the more. The way I've organized my life makes it easy for me to keep that temper from lighting on fire. Well, it's easy most of the time.

But Sam, the feelings I have for him, make me lose that control; I get crazy; can't think; sometimes can't breathe.

And that's the thick of it. I don't really believe it's more than that, but just in case I was wrong, I got a few other opinions.

One psychologist tried to tell me I was an 'over-perfectionist;' which is exactly as it sounds, though I'm quite certain it's not a bonified disorder. I think that psychologist just couldn't place me. I couldn't deny that diagnosis completely; I do like things done well, I'm a stickler for quality, but no more than any other business owner—I run two of the largest name firearms companies in the country, it's a requirement to demand order and perfection.

No. Over perfectionism is the least of my worries.

Another claimed I have OCD. I'll admit when you 'web-MD' it, it sounds a bit like me: excessive preoccupation with details, rules, order; underlying level of anxiety from extreme lack of control… And while I don't deny I fit that mold pretty well, I've talked to a few people with true OCD; when it's put all together into me it doesn't quite add up; I don't have any ticks. Besides, I underwent the non-drug therapy for OCD; Cognitive Behavioral Therapy just in case I did have it. I found it helped in every avenue of my life, was too easy even. To the point the psychologist thought maybe she'd made a misdiagnosis. Yet the area I was most interested in helping was only the area it never helped me with: Sam.

When I decided to go ahead with the drug therapy, Sam threw the biggest fit you ever saw. There's no way he wanted me on drugs, not when he felt he had an answer to our problem and that the drugs wouldn't help me anyway. Turns out he did—have an answer that is.

So that's why I say it really boils down to Sam for me. Begins and ends, actually. It's like that for my father with my mother and us kids; a family trait, maybe? I'm not one hundred percent sure, but I like to think so. It's a crazy, obsessive level of need to protect a loved one—one that necessitates control... One that ignites my temper. I can protect whom I love with strict protocol; least in my mind it feels that way. I feel that way for Dean now; have since laying eyes on him.

The jealousy; it's only for Sam. Lord help me, I don't know why. I don't want to get jealous; I trust him and me completely, but the thought of someone looking at him, touching him… Drives me insane.

Not the good kind of insane. 

And I guess that's somewhat tied to control: I have little to no control over someone admiring Sam. It's not so bad when I'm around. I can see them; they can see the death I'm planning for them by looking into my eyes if they think about touching Sam or making a pass at him.

When we played more frequently, it was actually the best for me in some ways.

I could parade Sam around, show him and everyone else he's mine and the majority of doms and other subs were respectful. The quality I have exists in many of them; they understand me; I felt normal: Mostly.

In 'real life,' people aren't as respectful.

Sam's the most beautiful thing on the planet. Men and women desire him alike; they look at him all the time, but if I'm there, I can watch the situation, do something if necessary; like hurt them.

When I'm not around to do something… I get tense just thinking about it. Having Sam tell me everything, making that a rule, eases this illogical fear. 

The level of my ease is dependent on Sam. I mostly leave that up to him; he's better at figuring me out than any psychologist, my own mama and most especially me.

No matter what Sam says, I'm the luckier one. He shouldn't love a guy like me, but thank the Lord he does. We tried to separate once—my idea, not his; he told me I was a stupid fool. He was right. It didn't work; failed miserably. And here we are—the couple we've become is a sum of working through all this.

I should have listened to him when he told me to collar him the other day. He was right. I need it. The 'incident' has been playing in my mind ever since, over and over. Him shirtless for everyone to see, none of my marks on his body...

"Does that hurt, Baby?" Yeah. That's fucked up; I know. I love him more than life and I want to hurt him. There's control in pain; remember that, along with a whole lot of other stuff you don't want to know about. That's for demons like me.

"Yes, sir."

See? He knows. I didn't tell him to call me sir, but he knows which Cas I am right now.

"But I can do whatever I want to you, can't I Baby?"

"Yes, sir. Anything, sir."

We haven't played since Dean.

I let him drop to the ground; suddenly releasing my hold, so he can't gain purchase on the toes he'd been forced to stand on. He lands on his knees and proceeds to his hands and knees. "Is Dean out for the night? He won't wake up?"

"Of all the nights; these have been good ones for that—him not waking up. He's unusually tired as his body recovers, Sir."

"Good. Follow me, Baby." I lead him to our room, Sam crawls behind me—the staff is very used to us.

When we get to our room, I don't waste time. I've got plans; I've been thinking about them all day. "Too, many clothes, Pet. Shirt and pants off, leave your boxers on."

Sam's quiet as he strips to his boxers. And he kneels. Each toe pad touches the floor and just the squares of his kneecaps to the ground, his arms are twisted together down his spine, fingers threaded together and folded. He looks at the ground in front of him. "How's your ass?"

"It's fine, sir."  
"You're a terrible liar, Pet."

"It hurts, sir, but it's not that bad."  
"In other words no spanking your ass tonight—not to worry, there's plenty of skin Darlin.'"

Sam tries to hide his smile.

"I wonder how good you still are at orgasm control—it's been awhile hasn't it?"  
"Yes, sir," he says but I can see he's nervous. It's something that requires practice; I'm in no mood to make it easy on him and he knows the punishment for cumming without permission.

"Good." I lazily walk over to our 'special cabinet' and grab a few items before I sit on the chair we keep in our room for spankings; we use the bed a lot for spankings too. There's a small table beside where I place all of my items.  
"C'mere, Baby."

Sam crawls over to me and kneels.  
"Up here, Baby." He stands and comes close enough I can pull him in and turn him around. "Bend that sweet ass over, Baby." I'm going to torture the living hell out of my boy.  
He groans, his cock already leaking—he's already having a tough time. The mere dominance in my voice turns him on.

His hands slide down to his thighs, but I need them. "Spread those cheeks wide for me, Baby."

A sweet, sensual shiver runs down his back at that order; he complies spreading his sore ass cheeks apart; taking a sharp inhale. Generous with the lube, I pour it down the crack of his ass and slide my finger inside his smooth, wanting hole making it slippery. I don't start slow, I begin with massaging his prostate, so he's already tensing as he moans trying to hold back his orgasm. I have unfair advantage when he's at my mercy like this. I know how to make Sam cum in under thirty seconds—I know his body—I've got him building and keening; let's see if I can get him swearing.

I pull my finger out; he's both relieved and disappointed, but breathing hard, trying to recover as fast as he can. Much as I know his body, he knows my patterns; if I'm starting this hard, this fast, he knows he won't have much rebound time and the next thing I do will be worse.

"I'm starting to think you don't want this, Baby. Your legs are so close together," I tisk.  
He responds by spreading his legs wider and raising his ass higher in the air, in effort to look more appealing. Sweet baby Jesus—he couldn't look more appealing. Especially with his ass that red, with that many little bruises; my marks on him soothe me as much as they rile me the fuck up. My cock is straining in my sleep pants, which I've left on deliberately.

"That's better," I say with a tug to his balls and from the hypnotic way he responds, I know he's already flittered off to subspace. My Sam is good at that; doesn't take him long; he's always been a natural at this sub business.

Without warning, I twist two slicked up fingers into his gaping hole and he can't fucking resist, he pushes back into them, "please…"

"Oh, Baby. We're just starting; you can't cum yet. Be a good boy and help me out by stroking your cock."

I think I hear a 'fudge,' but it's low and far away sounding, like he always sounds when he's lost to me in subspace. That might be Sam's way of swearing, but it's not the kind I'm looking for, I keep twisting my fingers inside of him. I move slower this time though, only moving over his prostate with every second pass, building a slow orgasm as he strokes his cock in time with thrusts.

"Please, Sir…"

"I haven't even collared you, Baby. You're going to earn that collar." Is the response he gets for his trouble. I'm enjoying watching him writhe and moan in agony, trying to keep his orgasm at bay. I admire his reddened cheeks some more, smoothing my free hand over them just enough to light a fire of pleasure in his balls.

"Fuck, Sir. I'm going to…"  
There it is. I pull out of him immediately. "Stand up. Face me." I'm sorry to see that lovely red ass of his disappear from my view, but then again I get to see how hard his cock is.

And it's hard and drooling. Fuck. He's breathing hard too; he looks a bit upset actually. "What's the matter, Baby?"  
"I almost disobeyed you. I almost, came."  
"But you didn't, did you Baby?"

"No, Sir."  
"No. You didn't. Good boy."  
I get a lazy far away smile.

"Do you want my collar, Baby?"  
"Yes, Sir. So much."  
"Show me."

I get another lazy smile, but this one is filled with worship shining through his soul and out his eyes. I don't know why this man worships me like he does, but am I ever glad for it.

He gets down on his knees and I get to watch as this mighty man kneels before me once again, his abdominal muscles ripple as he flexes his long torso forward. His hands move tentatively along the waistband of my pajama pants. "May I suck your cock, Sir?"  
I give a firm nod, fluidly lifting my hips as he yanks my pants down to my ankles and off; he knows I like to spread my thighs wide when he sucks my cock like this. He gets straight to work, swallowing the head and licking up the shaft.

This is a special skill of Sam's and he knows it. I'm far quicker to swearing than he is relinquishing a string of 'Jesus fucks' and 'mother fucking Gods.' It may seem 'un-domly' of me to loose such control over a blow-job, but you try having Sam's lips wrapped around your cock… or your anything and I swear—he'll take the mightiest of us down with the damn tongue of his.

By the time I'm cumming down his throat, he's more than earned my collar. He resumes kneeling and I place the thick, black leather thing around his throat, just this side of too tight. It won't choke him; it will remind him to maintain good neck posture.

"Thank-you, Castiel."  
I'm sorry if you're disappointed he doesn't call me 'Master.' We tried that for awhile, it didn't fit us. But as you'll notice, Sam never calls me 'Castiel,' unless it's followed by my other names and he's scolding me for something.

I tilt his head up and I kiss him slow and dominating. And then I start to play.

~SDC~

I'm tied up somehow, I'm not really sure, but I've long floated away to merciful bliss. Castiel is wrecking havoc on my back with a gentle leather flogger. Those things are kinda 'whippy' feeling. They sting for about a second and leave a sweet cool burn, it's easy; a warm-up, barely even makes me flinch.

What it does do, unfortunately for me, is make my cock hard and miserable. I've lost track of how many false orgasms he's built for me, only to disappoint. I'm starting to go a bit crazy, but I knew when he asked me to suck him off, it was to give _him_ endurance, which meant I was in for a long night.

Castiel throws the flogger to the side and pulls out his belt. I can see his eyes clearly even though the lights have long been dimmed. There's madness in them. He wants to hurt me. _Needs_ to. He has to mark me in every way. I know.

And I want to give that to him.

The first lash cuts through my back like a knife through butter; I scream—there's no 'not screaming' from a hit like that. There's little recovery and he's slashing again; I scream again.

I don't know how many times he whips my back after that, careful to avoid my already marked backside—though I don't think it matters much at this point. My whole body is alive with pain anyway, my cock is a steel rod begging to have release. But he's far from done.

I only know he's done with my back when he starts on my front.

"You're mine. Mine God damn it."  
"Yours," I repeat over and over, in between cries of pain and begging him to please, please let me cum.

Once I've reached this point in my little sub cavern, it's a cakewalk for me. I won't cum unless he says, or decides to be a serious A-hole, but I will suffer the anguish of waiting for the command. I feel pain, but I know every strike I take is for him and I'll happily take whatever he needs to give me.

His marks surround me, carry me, make me feel whole.

When he's finally done whipping every ounce of flesh I have and my body's nervous system can't differentiate where the pain is the worst anymore, he touches me tenderly and that ignites the pain wherever he touches, like it focuses all the pain to that one area under his fingertips and I flinch and cry—real tears are falling down my face.

"That's it Baby. You've been so, so good for me," he coos as he cuts me down from wherever I'm hanging. We never installed a 'dungeon' or a 'red-room' like some of our friends have, we just re-designed our bedroom, specially.

He leaves my hands tied together at the wrists and positions me so I'm in a bowed position, on my knees, my arms overhead, face to the side on a pillow and knees spread wide, ass vulnerable and open for him.

I feel the head of his cock at my entrance, which is greedy for it and tries to grip on.

"Ah, ah, ah," he chides. "You need to ask for that, don't you, Baby?"  
"Yes, Castiel."  
"Go on then. Beg me, if you please me I may even let you cum—I'm going to fuck you either way, but putting you into chastity would please me greatly. Maybe I'll just keep going 'till I wear you out and you cum without my permission."

It does please him; I know too well. It's why he loves to play this game and he tries so hard to win. If I cum without permission, our long agreed punishment for that is a week of that horrible chastity device he's so fond of. He's only won once… and I've let him win a few times after that because I know he like it so gosh darn much—it's the ultimate in control to him.

But he's not winning tonight. He's played too hard for me to let him win, I need to cum; I'll pull out all the stops.

"Please, Castiel. Fuck me hard. Fuck me so all I feel is you for days…"

I know he has this weird thing for me saying 'fuck.' It turns him into a beast; he can't resist when I beg him like that.

"Oh, I'm going to Baby, believe me."

He shoves his cock into me hard and carnally. Cas has left the building completely, it's just Castiel and I'm his, so very his and he's making sure I know that. I feel his sweet thrusts along with his hands all over my body, reigniting pain in a sensual way that builds my orgasm bigger than he has all night.  
"Cum for me, Baby," are the sweetest words I'll ever hear again and I lose it at the same time he does. We collapse; I can't move; he can't either.

~SDC~

He's taken such good care of me tonight; it's time for me to take care of him. I remove his collar carefully, knowing how jarring that could be for his psyche, but only after I've untied him and massaged special lotion and lavender oil into his heated skin. I make sure to worship him with every drop of devotion he gave to me tonight.

I clean us both up and tuck him into bed, he's quiet as he rouses from the headspace he's been in the past hour.

"Cas?"  
"Shhh, Baby. I'm here," I whisper in his ear as I card fingers through his hair from behind.  
"Dean…"  
"Checked on him when I threw our clean-up cloths in the hamper. He's all cuddled into that blanket he likes."  
"Mhmmm… Thanks, Cassy," he murmurs shifting back into me, unfortunately rubbing against my cock who doesn't seem to know we're not sixteen anymore.  
"Don't even think about it…" he says sleepily and I know he's smirking.

"I wasn't."  
"You weren't thinking about flipping me over and dipping into my honey pot just one more time?"

"Fine. I was—but you're irresistible, Baby."

"Well you're going to have to resist—I'm going to be an aching mess tomorrow and I've got Dean to look after."  
"Already called the office, Baby, straight after dinner. I knew where this night was going. I'm going to be here all day."  
"Darn right you are. Sweet Jesus, Castiel Grace, what am I going to do with you?"  
"Let me dip into your honey pot?" I ask hopefully.  
"You know, you're so fond of that wicked chastity device, how about we put that on you? I think it will help you sleep…"  
"Second thought, I think I'm pretty sleepy." I'm contemplating leaving him sleep and going to tug one out in the bathroom.  
"You're not doing that either."  
"When did you become a mind reader and a sadist?"  
"Not a mind reader, just known you too long," he yawns. "Not a sadist either it's just... Cassy?"  
"Yes, my darling?"  
"Sing me to sleep?"  
"Anything, Darlin'."

~SDC~

**Seven Days Later**

"Ma, ma, ma, ma. C'mon Dean. Try for Daddy."  
"Mmmm, mmmm, mmmm," I say as I smash my spoon on my highchair tray. Papa just left, but not before they made out like a couple of teenage horndogs. Those two seem sappier than ever these days and I have no freakin' clue why. "Uh!" I point at the bits of egg that go flying off my tray—maybe Daddy shouldn't have trusted me to eat on my own.

"Yes. I see. You're making a big mess."  
"Uh-oh?" I say looking and pointing.  
"Yeah, uh-oh. You want Daddy to feed you?"  
He'd already started cleaning up the kitchen, well not cleaning so much as putting things away. Someone else does the dishes.  
"No!"  
He sighs, "at least you're talking more. How about we quit eggs and you have some juice?" It's not really a question; he's explaining what we're going to do, pretending to ask me—thinking I won't answer. But I do.  
"No!" I like playing with the eggs.  
I squeal by way of complaint when he takes my tray away and wave my spoon menacingly at him; pouting. I close my eyes and shake my head as he cleans my face and hands, confiscating my spoon.

"Dah-dhee," I whine.  
"Just a sec, Dean Bean. Almost done."

He unstraps me (I think strapping me into the highchair is unnecessary, but Daddy and Papa seem to go overboard with safety now that I'm a rugrat) and grabs me under my armpits to set me down. He reaches a long arm to the table, where he'd set a bottle of juice, scoops it up and hands it to me. "There you go, sweetheart. You drink that while Daddy cleans up your egg explosion."

Bottles. They're not the easiest things to drink out of unless you're lying down. I have to tip my head way back to get any juice; the action causes me to fall flat on my diapered bottom. I use both hands and continue tilting the bottle, along with my head towards the ceiling. I watch Daddy's feet move back to the island where the sink and garburator are until I can't see them anymore. The bottle makes a suction sound when I pull it out. "Guh-on?"  
"I'm not gone. I'm right here baby."

With one hand still holding my juice so I can continue to drink—because it's that freaking awesome mango-orange stuff that tastes like kick-ass—I use the other to help push me up to my feet and go looking for Daddy. I'm sure he hears the crinkle of my diaper and slapping of bare feet on the kitchen floor to give me away, 'cause he doesn't have to look at me when he says, "see? Daddy's here cleaning off your messy tray. Ick!"

"Ieechk!" I parrot back at him.  
He laughs. "Yeah, ick!"  
"Ieechk!" I say again, liking that word. One good thing, the words I can say are not too bad and Daddy thinks I would learn even faster if I just practiced more, which is why he's constantly repeating sounds. He doesn't attempt to have 'lessons' with me anymore, since the first day; letting me discover shit on my own, but he still tries to help the process along. I think it's funny as all hell listening to him jabber in 'baby language.'

I plop down right by his foot and resume holding my bottle with two hands, though I've not stopped drinking it.  
"We're going out today, sweetheart. Won't that be fun?"  
Out? Did we need to go out? I like it here fine.

Daddy moves away from me and back to the area of my egg devastation, and not one to like being left behind, I follow him. He's picking up the eggs, piece by piece and I feel kind of bad since I made the mess; I should fucking help him.

I squat down, but have to take the juice out of my mouth to have any hope of looking at the ground. I have every intention of helping Daddy pick up eggs, but I'm overcome with the intense desire to squish. "Iccehk!"  
"Dean," Daddy scolds. He snatches the egg away. "Looks like I have a bored baby. I'm almost finished. Hey I know. Where are Dean's shoes?"

Shoes? That's all he's gotta say and I'm up again, with juice bottle in hand of course toddling toward the back door. I don't see any shoes here, except Daddy's mammoth thongs for his Sasquatch feet and I feel tricked. I think I just fell for the oldest baby distraction in the book.

Daddy's suddenly behind me, picking me up; tossing me in the air and catching me so I face him. "Nope. Not there, baby boy."

I've got wide eyes for a second from being thrown like that; it was a bit scary (you try being this small and getting tossed around like a sack of potatoes), but that quickly transforms into a scowl. Seeing the scowl on my face at being had, he lifts me 'till his mouth is at my belly and worms its way under my shirt, blowing raspberries 'till I'm giggling. But I'm trying really hard to stay mad.

"C'mon—Daddy'll help you find'em, bug."  
Yeah, 'cause Daddy's known where they were all along. Bitch.

I suck back my juice as I sit and wait for him to put my shoes on, sounding like a snuffling little glutton I'm drinking it so fast. "Guh-on," I say when I'm done and had the empty bottle to Daddy.

"Thanks, Dean Bean. You want up, or you want to hold hands with Daddy out to the car?"  
"Uh!" I say. Of course I want up. Duh.  
"Yeah, yeah. I should have known better." He slings the diaper bag over his shoulder and Daddy and I embark on an adventure together.

~SDC~

I'd been so focused on getting Dean out the door, for our first Daddy and Dean road trip with him this little, I forgot to give him his soother and now he's letting me know it in the back seat. I'm contemplating pulling over to give it to him (the diaper bag is in the back seat with him of course, out of my reach) but it's probably not a good idea to have him become more demanding than he already is. It's just hard when he's so fudging cute.

"Sssue? Sssue?"  
I think that's his first 's' word. "Good boy, Dean! I know you want your sue, Daddy's sorry he forgot to give it to you. Bad Daddy."

I plan to stop and grab a coffee anyway on the way to the park—that's where I'm taking him. Yes we pretty much have a park in our backyard, but the group I joined online meets there. I thought it would be good for Dean to play with other moddlers. I'd like him to meet our friend's kids too, some who are and some who aren't moddlers, but Cas and I decided to wait until we can have a little shindig together.

In the meantime, I thought this group would be a nice way to ease Dean into playing with other kids like him and Cas agreed. Naturally, Cas holds great apprehension at me meeting 'new' people without him, but this is where he tamps down on his possessive-jealous tendencies, pretends it doesn't bother him and encourages me to go.

I in turn don't make mention that I know it bothers him and go. Me making a deal out of this particular thing upsets him. I already stay home, by my choice to put him at ease and he hates that. So I attempt as many 'regular' things as I can, which brings an odd sort of balance to the whole equation.

"Uh! Uh! Uh!"  
"In a minute sweetie."  
"Guh-on?"  
"It's not gone. It's in your diaper bag. Daddy can't reach."

Now his 'uhhhs' are turning more into whines and I've already learned from there it's cry-city. It's incredible how well that Modlenol stuff works at turning adults into babies. Dean has seriously regressed over the past few days in particular—I doubt he's really realized, just like before. Even Cas has eased off on him big time realizing how little he is mentally as well as physically.

I know he's still having Big Dean thoughts, and he's got Big Dean memories, but he's embraced being a little boy. Like with the throwing eggs and then smushing them into my floor.

I'm in the Impala rather than getting the driver to take us. Of course we're not really 'alone;' Cas always has someone watching over us, but we're not on orange alert or anything—at least not anymore. Not like the day we picked up Dean. Cas was a paranoid freak that day when we got the call and I can't say I blame him. He called everyone who'd ever worked for us to escort us to and from the adoption agency.

He's only recently called off some of his dogs. There are less men at the house since bringing Dean home and all the stuff that happened with Crowley, but there will always be men in black lurking around us; trying to stay out of sight unless needed.

If we didn't have reason before, we've got reason now—Bobby'd given them a Hunter's crash course too.

But in the Impala, I don't have as much stuff and I'm far away from Dean, whereas in the SUV, I'd be sitting next to him in the back seat.

"Dah-dheeee… Sssue…"  
I can see from the rearview, there are already tears down his face. "I know sweetheart. Hey Dean, do you know where we're going?" I say trying to distract him.  
He doesn't say anything, but he gets quiet. I take that as a sign to keep going. "We're going to play at the park. You might meet some friends, like you."

That seems to intrigue and concern him. "Daddy's going to be with you the whole time and maybe Daddy'll make a friend too."

That's as far as I get and he's already whining again. Thankfully I'm at the coffee shop. Finding parking for Dean's insanely long car is of course problematic, especially when you have a crying baby in the back, but I manage.  
"Okay. I'm coming, Pumpkin Butter."

That was the longest ten-minute drive, ever.

I open the car door and dive my hand into the diaper bag, pulling out the much desired 'sue.' His mouth is open and waiting; I pop it in. "There, you better now Dean Bean?"

He nods and reaches for me. I unbuckle him and pull him out of the car to come in the coffee shop with me.

He quickly becomes Daddy's little Kling-on. I rock him as I wait in line, humming.

"He's cute," the lady from behind me says. "No!" Dean screeches at her. She laughs. 

"Thanks—and umm, sorry about that." Dean still doesn't like being called cute so much. But that's as far as our conversation goes; I'm next, so I order my coffee and it's why I don't see Dean reaching for the brightly colored candy sticks they've got next to the register and they topple everywhere and I mean _everywhere._

"Fiddlesticks! I'm sorry ma'am… I…" I try to pick up candy sticks as I apologize, with the baby in my arms, the woman from behind me chips in and starts helping too, one of the members of the staff, a younger male, comes from behind the counter to help as well.

"Don't worry about it, sir. I'll take care of that, you just get your coffee. My girlfriend and I have a little one at home too—they can be monkeys, can't they?" He says to Dean.

"Uh-oh," Dean says to the guy.  
"Yeah, uh-oh," I say rolling my eyes. He's going to get off with every naughty thing he does and with everyone, since he's so gosh, darned cute. "Thanks a ton," I add for the young gentleman.

I return to the cashier and tell her to put the lady waiting behind me's order on my bill as well as all the surely broken candy sticks.  
"Naw. We were trying to get rid of those anyway, how about I just charge you for the one in his hand, if that'll make you feel better, but you really don't need to pay for any of them."

Wait. _Dean has one?_ How the heck did that happen? I look down at my mischievous baby, who I hadn't really been paying close attention to since the whole candy stick incident (though you would think I've learned to keep a closer eye on him after that) and sure enough, he's got his soother out in one hand and a yucky candy stick, clear plastic wrap still on, shoved into his mouth.

Crap. I have to take it from him. He's going to wail. There's no way I'm letting my baby eat that pile of high fructose corn syrup garbage.

I throw a fifty on the counter thanking her profusely, telling her to give the lady behind me whatever she wants and I barely hear the woman who I'd just bought coffee for, thank me, because I'm scooting off to the side where I need to wait for my coffee and get ready to disappoint Dean.

"No, Pumpkin Butter. That's ick. Daddy's got snacks for you in the car."

I have to pry it away from him—gently—but definitely pry and I chuck it quickly into the nearest receptacle. It takes all that time for Dean's face to redden, take a deep breath and sob. I bounce him as I say, "aw, hush baby Dean. You're okay. Daddy's got better stuff in the car."

Part of me feels that little niggling of stress I'm sure every parent feels when their child is sobbing at the top of their lungs and is disrupting the other patrons, while at the same time I'm happy Dean's crying like a small child would over getting something taken away he wanted. It's progress.

"C'mon, where's sue, Dean Bean?"  
That distracts him. "S-sue?"  
I know it's in his hand, but he shows it to me as if to say, 'it's right here, Daddy.'  
"There is it! Can you put that in your mouth?"

He does, but still looks woe-be-tide with the tear tracks down his cheeks; he's learned to cry on command. He hasn't forgotten about the candy stick, he points to the garbage can he'd seen me throw it in. "Uh!" He says behind his soother.

I run a hand through his soft curls. "We're going to get something better."

Thankfully my coffee is ready, I grab it, throw a little cream in and get the heck out of there; poor Dean still pissed.

When we get to the car, I put my coffee in the cup holder up front and strap my surly child into his car seat. I reach into the diaper bag and pull out a treat for him. "Here's a cracker baby. Daddy made these special for you."

They're my mama's special recipe; a homemade cracker made with whole ingredients unlike processed store bought kind. Not only are they better for him, they're a lot tastier.

At the sound of cracker, Dean's reaching for it; I give it to him and pull out his soother, keeping it with me this time, so I can simply reach back and plug it into his mouth at a stoplight, if needed. We're not that far away. I contemplate pulling out the stroller and walking the rest of the way, but after the whole candy stick fiasco, I think it's better to have the car closer, at least for today. "Be careful with that sweetheart—chew."

"Mmmmmhmmm…" he says. I shake my head smiling.

I'm a little hesitant to leave him chewing a cracker in the back seat, but I'm relatively certain he'll be okay. Besides, any sign of choking, I'll pull over.

Finally, we make it to the park. Dean's got cracker crumbs on him, so I pull him out, set him down on the ground, and dust his front off. I grab the diaper bag, Dean's hand (which I have to crouch a bit to achieve of course) and my coffee and we walk toward the playground where I can see kids. Quite a few actually. I'm sure not all of them are moddlers. It's hard to tell which ones are, until we're closer. Moddlers seem to have an age-less twinkle in their eye; marking them as an 'old soul.'

The group of parents is easier to spot. Many of them are mingling together on the edge of the playground, some are helping their little ones on the slide.

Dean stops and demands to be picked up. "Uh!"

"Yeah, okay. Come up here Sugar bug." He attaches himself like a leech. I can't say I don't love it and even with the diaper bag slung over one shoulder and my coffee in one hand, it's still easy to pick him up on the one side.

"Hi, I'm Sam. This is Dean," I say when I approach what I'm sure is the group.  
"Hi there Sam and Dean," a man says. "I'm AJ, my little guy Conner's over there."  
I put my hand out, "pleased to meet you AJ."

I go around the circle and meet: Annie, Lisa, Shelly, and another man named Lou. They all point out their children and some of the other parents currently on the playground.

"This is a standing date," AJ says. "There are more of us, but it's a come as you please type of thing."

"Have you ever had everyone show up?" I ask, trying to imagine what that would be like.  
"Yes. We took over the whole playground that day," he laughs.

Dean's furled into me looking not so sure about this. "You okay, Sweetheart? You want to play with the other kids?"

He shakes his head into me. "That's okay. You'll go when you're ready."

"Here, let's introduce Dean to my Brittany, shall we? She's a bit older by the looks of it. We'll get her to show him around." Without waiting for my reply, Annie calls Brittany over and a gorgeous little blonde thing with stunning curls comes racing over.

"Yeah, Mama?"

Dean's eyes are wide. I think he likes her.

"Will you take Dean around and introduce him to the other kids?"  
"'Course Mama. C'mon Dean."

Dean is scrambling to get down and now I'm the one feeling pangs of apprehension letting him go off by himself—he's so little! If you could see him…

But I know I need to suppress Mama Bear (do not tell Cas, or Dean I said that) and let him go. Besides the look on his face right now as he stares at Brittany in complete awe… I think Baby boy's got a crush.

Thankfully he looks up at me before he takes off with her, checking to see if _I'm_ all right.

"Guh-on?" He says from behind his soother, pointing to the playground.  
I smile. "Yeah, Baby boy. You go play with the kids, Daddy will be right here if you need him."  
Brittany takes his hand and I'm impressed with how carefully she leads him over the rocks—she's better than my record.

I feel someone tugging at Dean's diaper bag. "C'mon Sam. Put that down. Sit and stay awhile," Lisa winks at me. "We keep our eyes on all of them, an extended Mommy, Daddy radar. Drink your coffee, I'll bet it's getting cold."

Yeah. It was. Dean was not pleased I'd taken the candy away from him. He liked the cracker, until it was gone thirty seconds later and I couldn't give him a new one. He kept saying 'Daddy, ick.' 'Ick' meaning the candy stick, since I'd said it was icky. I knew an upset was on the horizon, so I reached back real quick to give him his soother.

I tell you. Soothers are a God-send. If they ruin his teeth, like all the parent-lore says; we're rich, we'll get him braces.

I felt guilty after that, for making him so upset, but it didn’t change my mind on giving him that kind of candy. I focused all my energy on talking to him, which thankfully seemed to work—Dean doesn't seem hold a grudge (at least with his daddies, he might have something to say to Crowley in a few years)—but needless to say, I did not get to sip my coffee.

I listen to her and put my diaper bag down on one of the picnic tables and stand with the other parents, so I can begin sipping my lukewarm coffee and keep a hawk-eye on Dean.

"It's hardest with the first—letting them be independent I mean—when you have your second it will be much easier to let go."

That's Lisa again. "Oh, um, Dean's going to be an only child; my husband and I talked about it a long time, we just want one."

"You never know…"  
"Leave him alone Lisa. Don't mind her Sam. She's got three kids the traditional way and two moddlers and it doesn't end there; crazy bastards are planning a sixth."  
"Lou! There are kids," Lisa says.  
Lou doesn't look to care, he extends his hand to shake mine introducing himself formally this time. "I'm Lou. My wife and I have one and we only want one," he says more for Lisa's benefit than mine. I can tell he's just having fun with her; she knows it too; she's smiling and shaking her head at him.

"My wife's an ass-kicking orthopedic surgeon, so I get to pursue my acting career while being a 'house-husband,'" he jokes. "One kid is more than enough. Eric's five."  
And probably knows a lot of swear words.

"Nice to meet you Lou."  
From there I learn a bit more about the group. AJ's husband works and he enjoys being, as he calls it 'a kept man,' they just have Conner now, but would like another in the future.

Annie writes vampire novels and has two older boys, in school at present, Brittany is her only moddler.

Shelly's got two boys, both moddlers. An interesting case because they are identical twin boys who had a very challenging first life, they both wanted a new second life together. She runs a fitness business part-time out of her home.

That was going to be a lot to remember, I'm glad it's a small turnout today. They mentioned things about the other parents who are busy with their much smaller children on the playground, but I forget almost as soon as they tell me their names. I'm sure I'll meet them later. Their moddlers look to be just that much smaller than Dean and need help with everything. If Dean wants to go down the slide, he'll still need my help, but I doubt he'll ask. He looks like he's trying to impress Brittany… getting help from his Daddy may not be considered 'cool.'

We chat and we watch the kids. Annie pulls out a little baking she's done and we chat some more as we enjoy her awesome homemade bird's nest cookies. Our kids play together and I have to watch Dean fall multiple times without racing to him—I think he's going to have bruises from a couple of those falls. I'm proud of myself for only leaving the parent group to check Dean's diaper—which needs changing and of course, he's ticked at me for changing on the picnic table, but where else was I supposed to change him? I saw some of the other parents do it too, so I don't feel out of line with them; besides, my mama and I had changed plenty a diaper any old place that was convenient. I tell him he's being silly; he can't wait to leave to go play again.

But all in all, the play date is a good one… until Dean decides to punch Eric and Eric pushes him back and we end up in at Lou's house so his doctor wife can make sure he doesn't have a concussion.

~SDC~

The blonde vixen came running across the playground when her mother called and I was in love.

Don't start planning the wedding kids. Not _that_ kind of love, the Dean kind of love—you know? Another notch on the ol' bed-post kind of love—though I guess it's a crib post now. That's okay. You ever notice how many posts there are on a crib? That's right, a lot. More room to add notches. And before you think I'm delusional, I know my junk doesn't work in that capacity at the moment, but I plan on doing the 'little person' equivalent to that. I'd have her swooning using the old Dean charm… soon as I figure out what the hell that is, now.

Now what is it eighteen month old's do to win a girl's affections?

I've got no idea, but I'm nothing if not industrial, so I try to come up with something.

Falling all over the place doesn't help and not being able to talk much is a major bummer. But she's holding my hand and her mama told her to take care of me; I can work with that. Least I think so, until _he_ shows up.

"What you doin' hangin' out with that _baby._ Bet he's not even outta diapers, are you baby?" Stupid asshat says to me. He's big, but it's not like I've never taken on anything twice or three times my size. Besides, he's not even supernatural; this should be easy. I glare at him, daring him to just fucking try me.

Then, the worst thing ever happens. Brittany has to defend me; though it is kinda bad-ass that she's so tough. "Weave 'im awone, Ewic. Or I'm telling."

She has got the cutest damn lisp and I want to kiss those damn lisping lips.

"Fine. I'll leave him alone, tattle-tale, but you have to come play with me. I thought we're getting married today."

"I'm 'sposed to watch'im. He gets to come."

Married? They're getting married. The little kid part of me starts freaking out and thinking it's over for her and me, but then I remember: They can't get 'real' married, they're just kids. I get an idea… I want to play too.

It's fucking hard, but I maneuver myself onto one knee, I pull my pacifier out of my mouth and give it to her… it's my make-shift 'ring.'

"You wanna marry me too, Dean?"  
I nod.

"If you accept that, the wedding's off," Dillweed says.

"You're mean, Ewic. And you said I'm a tattle-tale. I want to marry Dean today. Maybe I'll marry you next time if you be nicer to people!"

She takes my soother and puts it in her mouth. Yeah it's all ripe with my spittle, it's like we're frenching. Rad.

'Ewic' stomps his foot in the rocks. "You'll pay for this, baby."

I smirk with him with a smirk that clearly says, 'try it mother fucker.'

He storms away. "That was 'mantic Dean. 'Mantic means weal sweet. C'mon, let's go get married."

Fuck. Looks like I am getting hitched today after all, but by the sounds of it, these fake marriages don't seem to last long. I'll do it just to have one over on that Eric Dillhole. Besides, Brittany is _hot,_ she'll make a great first wife.

She leads me around by the hand and we collect some of the other kids. Thankfully she explains to them what happened, because I sure as hell can't, these two twin dudes say they'll come to our wedding and these other two hot brunettes agree to be in Brit's wedding party (what? she's going to be my wife, I can shorten her name).

"I'll be wight back, Dean. I'm going to get Mr. Cuddles, he'll marry us."  
Mr. Cuddles is going to marry us? That's fucked up. Who the hell is Mr. Cuddles?

She returns with this large stuffed dog and I'm starting to reconsider this whole thing. Brit is crazy. Maybe I should get Eric, apologize for taking his girl and we can have a laugh about this over baby brewskies or something, bonding over the mistake we almost made.

But I know wedding ceremonies usually have kissing in them, so I decide to stick around for that part. I'm not disappointed. Apparently Mr. Cuddles finally says, "you may kiss the bwide." I don't know if he did for real to be honest, I have to take her word for it, she's the only one between the two of us who can interpret stuffed dog—and I've got to say, that's impressive. I've never met one who could talk to stuffed animals before.

I just want to kiss her. She takes out, my soother, and I give her a big slobbery kiss on the lips. Satisfied that I'd the baby equivalent of 'got some,' I decide that she's had my soother long enough.

"Uh!" I say, pointing to my soother then tapping my mouth.

"You can't have it back. It's mine!"

Mine. Now there's a word I'd like to say. I'd been practicing my Mmmmm, sounds with Daddy a bit along with some other stuff; I try it. "Mmmmm…iiine! Mmmmiine!" Not too shabby Dean Winchester.  
"No! Mine! Besides you're my husband now. What's yours is mine. Mama says that to Daddy sometimes."

Man. They teach them that fucking young these days.

Not wanting my new wife to be fucking pissed at me, I decide to let her have it for now with plans on having Daddy get it back for me later. Yeah, I'm not too proud.

I nod at her, flash her the cute Dean eyes and she's swooning. "I wove you, Dean."

Thank fuck I can't talk. I don't have to say that shit back. I just nod which can literally be interpreted as anything and move in to kiss her again since the soother's still out of her mouth.

From there things are pretty decent other than a few bad-ass falls I take. A couple of them fucking hurt and have me looking toward Daddy, but he looks calm, so I decide I'm probably okay, wipe myself off and keep going. I continually steal kisses from my hot wife throughout out playtime.

I'm feeling like a stud, even the hot brunettes look like they want a piece of the Dean action… perhaps even the twin dudes too—hey, I'm not opposed to that, I've explored that side of my sexuality in the past—but then Daddy decides to check my diaper, _totally_ ruining my rep.

Yeah, I'd peed in it, yeah I'd seen some of the others taken off to have their diapers changed, but it didn't fit in with my cool persona. It's important to make a tough-guy impression on the first day meeting new kids.

But Daddy came up to me without saying more than a, "how you doin' Dean Bean?" And grabbed my crotch, feeling the puffy softness of the diaper in my pants.

"Okay, playtime is suspended a few minutes. Time to change your bum Sugar Bug."  
Could he be anymore embarrassing? How would I live that down? Especially if that Eric Asshat heard.

I show my extreme displeasure by giving Daddy the stink-eye. "Sorry, baby. I know you're playing—Daddy will be quick." He says laying me down on top of a diaper mat that's laid out on the picnic table.

"No!" I say to tell him that's not why I'm pissed.

He figures it out quick. "Oh, Dean. You're being a silly boy. Look. Everyone else gets diaper changes too—no one cares."  
Not Eric. I want to say; though I think even my wife is still in diapers. I hadn't seen her have a diaper change yet, but I thought I could hear one crinkling as she walked.

Daddy is quick and I run back to playing without so much as goodbye. I feel a little bad later when I look back at him from my play and see he's got a sad look on his face. I make note to make him feel better later, but right now I'm trying to steal another kiss from Brit, who's suddenly gone frigid and is talking about having a baby.

Jesus Christ woman! I am a baby. I am not having any freakin' kids. Maybe I should have tried marriage with one of the twin dudes. I could see them waiting 'till at least the next play date before bringing up the topic of kids.

I'm mostly just glad no one's made a big deal over the whole 'diaper change' thing. Maybe Daddy was right; I am being silly. It was only that Eric kid that'd said anything and I'm sure that was because I stole his girl right in front of him—I kinda deserved what he said. But when he shows up to get in my face again, all of my thoughts on that pretty much go out the window and I just want to smash him.

He jumps down outta nowhere, just when I'm about to finally close the deal on another kiss with Brit after I'd agreed to five kids and three ponies. "I saw you have to get your diaper changed, you little baby! I'm a big boy and next time I'm marrying her. She's mine!"

Suddenly, we're two Neanderthals fighting over a chick.

"No! Mine!" I say, suddenly not having any problems saying that word—wow, little kids really do find it easy to say all of the words parents don't like first. But because that's pretty much all I can say, I seal the deal by punching the kid in the gut (only because I can't reach his face).

"You little jerk!" He pushes me and because it's not hard for me to loose my balance, I fall and smuck my head on the metal pole behind me. It seemed hard, but it's hard to tell what's hard these days, my senses are just a tad bit heightened.

I feel a bit dazed and I think I'm crying. My loving wife's there first though and she pulls the soother out of her mouth immediately saying, "hewre you go Dean. This'll help." But I'm not as keen to have her slobber in my mouth, at least not at the moment; I pull it out and throw it on the ground—I'm still crying and sobbing "Owwwhhhiieee…"

Daddy's there next scooping me up fast. "Oh, sweetheart."  
"What did you do, Eric?" A man says.  
"I didn't mean to! He punched me, I just meant to push him and knock him down—I didn't think he'd fall into the pole."  
"You shouldn't push. He's littler than you."  
"He punched me!"

"Sam, I'm so sorry this happened…"  
"It's okay Lou. I have siblings and so does Cas, this happens with little ones. But I think I better go get this bump checked out. It looks pretty bad. It's swelling fast and I don't have any ice on me."

"You'll be waiting years in emerg. Let my wife and I make this up to you, come by our place; let her have a look. My wife is in between hospital shifts this morning and was home sleeping before she has to go back in, she should be awake now and won't mind looking him over—she'll tell you if he needs to go in. We've got lots of ice."

"I wouldn't want to trouble your wife…"  
"No trouble. And besides, she's the best," he says proudly. "She had a pediatric practice for awhile before she moved to orthopedics."  
"Okay, if you're sure," Daddy says. I'm hanging onto him for dear life.  
"I'm sure."

~SDC~

We escaped that one without too much injury. Mrs. Lombardo checked Dean over and said she was sure he didn’t have a concussion, since he hadn't passed out and he was showing no other signs. There would just be some nasty bruising on his head, since we were without ice for the fifteen minutes it took to get to their house (it's only immediate ice that drastically reduces brusing) but just in case, she told me to watch him extra close the next twenty-four hours and told me the signs to look for.

She said I didn't have to skip his nap, but since I would have to keep waking him to check on him and because I'm paranoid I decided to skip it in favor of waiting to put him down for an early night; I would still need to check on him every two to three hours until the twenty-four hour period was over.

Not putting Dean down for his nap means that I've got a seriously cranky baby who wants nothing to do with anything I give him. Like, not anything. On top of that, I'm trying to figure out how to relay the information of what happened today to Cas, without him going ballistic once he sees the decent sized goose-egg on the back of Dean's head. His over-protective tendencies will take over; he may not ever let us go to back to the group again.

Aside from this happening, it had been a really good day. Dean was having a riot. He'd even given this little girl his soother and I saw him kissing her all over the playground—my Dean, the little ladies' man. I want to take him back to see him have fun like that again.

Dean did throw the first punch, but I'm sure Eric was taunting him, which in my books is no better than punching. I'm not one of those parents who automatically places hitting and violence as worse than words. Words can hurt just as much and are sometimes _more_ damaging.

That being said, I will still make a mention to Dean. At his age, and even as a moddler, there isn't much I can do other than tell him 'no hitting,' since he's too little to punish, but it is a good place to start in setting boundaries.

But there's zero use in saying anything at the moment. He's an unhappy boy. He isn't crying, or puking, nor any other symptom of concussion, but he's whiney and miserable.

I feel bad for my poor boy and pitifully helpless.

So after an afternoon of trying to come up with every conceivable way to make baby happy, I resorted to T.V. and feeding him ice-cream on the couch. Bad Daddy, I know, but you spend an afternoon looking into those sad eyes and hearing him say 'owie?' and 'uh-oh?" every few minutes, you'd do it too.

Not to mention the crying when I have to put more ice on his goose egg. Poor Baby.

We're watching Duke of Hazzard. Not really a 'kid's' show, but I know Dean likes the car. I do worry a little over what he watches… While his moddler mind may comprehend the on goings, the kid part of him might find certain things scary. I'm willing to risk it today—he seems okay, just have to keep him from falling asleep. I see his eyes fluttering closed.

"C'mon Dean Bean. Papa will be home soon. Don't you wanna show him your cool battle wound?" Not that Cas will see it that way, but I desperately hope Dean will.  
He nods with a little whine behind his soother. "I promise. We'll see Papa, have dinner, a bath and then you can sleep. Daddy will watch over you, okay? You just need to stay awake a bit longer."

As if on cue, I hear Cas walk in the door; Dean hears him too. "Uh!" He says pointing toward the sound.  
"You wanna go greet Papa, huh? So do I. Let's do it."

While I play a very nurturing role with Dean and would protect him 'till the death, Dean's very much picked up on Cas' special brand of protection—the kind I wouldn't mind feeling right now too. We both need him. My worry over telling Cas about today melts away with the sound of his voice calling, "family! I'm home!"

And just the sound of his gravely voice, make me want to give the responsibility of whatever decisions he decides to make over the events of today, to him.

"Heya, Cassy."  
"What happened to my poor boys?" He notices right away.  
Dean dives for him and begins mumbling out a reply. He does a fairly good job, but most of his words need work. It's as I suspected though; he still knows the words, he just needs practice saying them. Little Brittany, for example, talks far better than a regular three-year-old should. Moddlers are a bit ahead of the game when it comes to speaking. Dean's just gotta want to do it.

Dean's words are still not well articulated though and Cas needs me to fill in the details after Dean shows his 'owie' to Papa.

"He had an altercation with a kid at the playground today. It was somewhat an accident."  
"The kid accidently did this?" Dean's furled into him; Cas is trying to keep his rage on simmer, but he clearly want to break something.

"Dean punched the kid, the kid pushed Dean. He didn't mean to push Dean into a pole—that part just happened, but the parent's were very active in rectifying the situation. The little guy's mother even looked him over and—"

"You didn't take him to the hospital?"  
"No Cas. She's a surgeon and an ex-pediatrician. I'd say she was qualified. He's shown no symptoms, I think he's all right, it just hurts."  
Cas looks unsure, but I know he trusts my judgment. "He hasn't slept though," I add. "He's extremely cranky. I'm going to put him to bed right after dinner."

"Okay. Let's eat, we'll talk."  
He storms toward the kitchen and I'm grateful he's holding Dean, else I think we'd have lost several breakable objects by now…

~SDC~

"I know this freaks you out, Cassy—"  
"It more than freaks me out."  
I've lost track of how many times Papa's cut Daddy off. I'm fucking exhausted and if it weren't for their argument (they're trying very hard to hide the fact that they're having an argument, but I ain't stupid) I'd be asleep in my highchair. I guess I do need naps. I sure as hell wanted one today.

"We can't keep him away from other kids."  
"Well not permanently, but maybe while he's this little and can't defend himself against older kids."  
"So are we going to stay away from our friends and their kids too? I think it's better he learns to deal with other kids. I'll stay close to him next time—"  
"Whoa, next time? Sam, you can't be serious. No. No next time. I forbid it."  
Daddy balls his hands and he doesn't look happy about that ruling, but he says nothing.  
"Is there something you'd like to say, Baby? Do you disagree?"  
"It's not my place to disagree with you, Cassy. Do I like your decision? No, but I'll find a way to accept it."  
Quiet, like sneaking into a vampire's nest quiet, happens for the longest two minutes ever. Then Papa runs a hand, frustrated, through his hair. "I'm sorry Baby, I really am—but this is driving me crazy inside. If I have to be at work, thinking about Dean somewhere with someone who's hurt him, accidental or otherwise… I just… I can't. I'm sorry, Baby."

"I understand Cas. I know," Daddy says, but it looks like he wants to say something else. I want to say something too. I really liked playing with those kids. Even Eric's an all right bastard. We worked shit out. He apologized to me earlier after his mama checked me over. He really only meant to push me and knock me on my ass. That would have been shitty, like, embarrassing shitty, but because I fall on my ass like seven times a day, it wouldn't have hurt much. He'd just been an idiot who hadn't been watching what was behind me. It was already water under the bridge, far as I was concerned and I was totally letting him have Brittany back. She is _way_ too HM for me. I'm too young to have five children and three ponies.

I don't say anything though sensing that both Papa and Daddy are in turmoil. I try to eat my spaghetti without too much squishing, but the quiet is getting to me. Thank fuck the phone rings; Daddy excuses himself to answer it. I can't believe they still have a land-line, but they do _and_ apparently they give that number out. I also know that Daddy and Papa normally have a rule about answering phones when it's dinnertime, but I'm sure Daddy and Papa are grateful for the break in the tension tonight. Besides, I think dinner's pretty much over.

"Oh, hiya Annie. Yeah… uh-huh… uh-huh… Oh that's where it went. Okay… no he's okay, just tired and sore." Then Daddy's laughing at some things she's saying that neither Papa nor I can hear. "Okay Annie, thanks for calling. Bye now."

Both Papa and I are relieved to see Daddy smiling when he returns. Daddy's usually so happy when he's upset it's like sunshine being sucked from the room and you don't really even notice to what degree it affects you 'till it's back.

"That was Annie, Brittany's mama. Apparently she has Dean's soother. I thought I'd seen it on the ground during all the commotion, but it was gone when I went to grab it. We have so many others, it didn't seem worth hunting for at the time, so I left it."  
That gold-digging whore!

"Mine!" I say. He needs to get that back—I don't care how many more he's got for me, she gets nothing in the divorce.

They both turn to look at me in utter amazement.  
"That's the first time he's said that Cassy!"  
"Hmmm… I wonder how much we're going to appreciate him knowing that word."  
"Still Cassy! It's progress and something else Annie told me; apparently Dean married Brittany today."  
Papa laughs. "Is that true, Kiddo?"  
I nod unimpressed. I did not want that information getting out, what a blabbermouth. I just wanted to be kissed by a hot girl.

"I saw Dean making moves on her all day, but I didn't realize they'd gotten hitched. Hey Pumpkin Butter?"

"Iccehk!" I tell him.  
"You don't want to be married to Brittany, bug?"  
"No."  
They both laugh at me.

"You made some friends today, didn't you Dean?" Papa asks and I nod with a giant yawn.  
"He sure did," Daddy says. "But I think I'd better bathe him. He's a sleepy boy."  
"Let's do it together, Baby. I'll sit in the bath with him, it'll be easier."

~SDC~

"Decisions are suddenly not so black and white, Baby. I want you to quit the group, but I don't want to prevent Dean from seeing his friends," he sighs.  
"Don't worry about it Cas, we'll find other friends for Dean."  
"It doesn't matter what friends we find for Dean, this stuff can happen… Hell, I guess it could happen outside our home… around the house. That's what you were going to say earlier, weren't you? When I was being unreasonable."

Yes. I was, but I don't care about being right when he's torn up like that and I meant what I said: It's not my decision to make whether he's being unreasonable or not. I signed on for a life of deferring to him; I'm well aware.

Still, I won't lie. "The thought might have crossed my mind, but I meant what I said, it's not my place to make that decision, or to overrule you, especially in front of Dean."

"But you should have knocked some sense into me," he pouts.  
"Naw. I have every faith in you Cassy. I knew you'd come around. You were just mad; I was too when it happened; believe me, but they're kids. Unfortunately this probably won't be the last time; you should have seen the punch he threw."

We're downstairs in the kitchen. I'm making a quick cup of coffee before I spend the rest of the night watching over Dean. I'm mostly likely going way overboard—okay, I'm definitely going way overboard, Dr. Lombardo said I only had to check on him every two to three hours—but my plan is to stay up the whole night. First three hours by his side, then if he seems okay, I'll come down and read and run up and check on him every hour on the hour… I'll be tired tomorrow, but it will be worth it.

"Yeah, I bet. Our son is Dean and he's a Winchester now, we're pretty much screwed," he laughs.  
"So, does this mean we can continue going to the moddler group?"  
"Yeah," he says reluctantly. "But I'm going to the next one, could you wait 'till next week?"  
"Of course my love." Cas likes when I call him 'my love,' so I save it for just sometimes. He's smiling.  
"Can you forgive me for being an overbearing ape?"

"I love you because you're an overbearing ape. Nothing to forgive."  
"You might not say that in a minute when I tell you that whatever cockamamie plan you've got to stay up all night so you can check on Dean every five minutes is off."

"What? No. Cas—"  
"You can follow what the doctor said, but other than that, you're getting sleep. Either that, or we're doing it in shifts."  
"You have to work tomorrow, Cassy."  
"Which one, Sam?"

Neither option sounds good, but I know if I don't pick, he'll pick for me. "Fine. We'll do it in shifts, but I'm taking the first one."

"Yeah, yeah Mama Bear. You really that worried about him, Baby?" He knows if I'm choosing the option that interrupts his sleep that I must be seriously concerned.  
I nod.  
"C'mere, Baby."  
I put my coffee mug down, I'm still waiting for the coffee to brew anyway, and practically dive into his arms like Dean did early. It's my turn to feel some of Cas' protection.

"He's going to be fine."  
"But did you see that awful egg on his head? My baby's got a goose egg, Cas."  
"I know."  
"He was complaining all the way 'till you got home. I even fed the boy ice-cream and let him watch Dukes of Hazzard."  
"How much of that was him playing you?"  
"He was probably fifteen percent playing me."  
"Mmm-hmmm," he says disbelieving.  
"Okay, thirty-five, but he really was in pain."  
"Yeah and he was tired. He'll be better in the morning."  
"You sure?" I'd been telling Dean that all day and myself, but I want to hear Cas say it too.  
"Do I think he'll be out of concussion zone? Yes. But I think you're in a world of trouble now that he's learned the word 'mine.'"


	13. Dean and Papa go to the Beach

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas is insistent that Sam needs 'a day off.' Sam is sure he doesn't need one. Papa and Dean have the whole day together; it's a learning experience for everyone.

**Four Days Later**

"Cas, this is a terrible idea," I say to my well-meaning husband.  
"Nuh-uh, Daddy. It's my turn. You need a day off from 'Dean duty.'"  
Normally I love when Cas is overbearing and takes charge, but right now, it's just frustrating. "Dean isn't a duty, he's my son, Cassy."

I want to add that I don't 'need' any 'days off,' but I have to tread lightly if I want this discussion to continue. When he gets like this, concerned for me, he loses the ability to listen to reason; like with Dean and the playgroup.  
He'll mistake me attempting to reason with him, as disrespect and he'll make one of his hard, fast rulings I won't be able to dispute.  
"You know what I mean," he says a little irritated. "Why do I feel insulted?"  
"I'm sorry. I'm not trying to insult you, Cassy. I swear. Dean's just—and I say this with love—he can be a little monster."

Thankfully, that relaxes him some. "I get it. Only Daddy can handle Dean, not to worry Baby, I'm pretty good with him."

Yes. Cas is good with him. But them alone together for a whole day? There's no way Dean can behave that long, he's one and a half. And that right there is another problem: Cas has always been better with older kids; the ones who at least get what scolding means to some degree.

"You're wonderful with Dean, Cassy, but I think a shorter first day alone with Papa would be… better." I wince and wait. As well as I know my husband, there are still times I'm not sure what to say; I'm pretty sure I'm losing this battle.

"You think I can't handle my son for a whole day?" His eyes darken.

Honestly? No. But, I'm not stupid enough to say that and I'm out of arguments that won't insult him, more than I already have. He's going to have to learn the hard way. "Of course you can, Cas."

"It's settled then. I want you to sleep a bit extra, I'll have the staff bring you breakfast in bed in an hour and we'll be gone by then. You can take Dean's car; do whatever you want. Though I think a nice massage would be good for you—matter of fact, I'm sure I can get the RMT to come to the house for noon," he hums, pleased with himself and all his ideas for 'my day.'

"After that, do whatever! Go visit friends, do some writing, reading… anything you like, Baby. I'll have Dean fed and asleep by the time you come home, we'll watch a movie together."

Time to switch tactics, because there's no way I want to be away from my baby that long. "Cas please—I'll miss him. How about I do all that morning stuff, 'till noon and we meet up for lunch?"

"If I've done anything to imply this a negotiation, allow me to clarify: You're taking the day off Samuel. It will be good for the both of you."  
Remember those hard rulings I talked about?  
"Yes, Cassy, but at least let me pack a diaper bag for you…"  
"I'd hate to have to spank you on your day off."  
I don't want a day off! "Fine."  
"That's the spirit!" He's not stupid, he hears the sass in my voice; he must really not want to spank me. It reminds me again of his good intentions. He's concerned for me; ever since Dean smacked his head. It was a long night for both of us of interrupted sleep. Cas couldn't take the day off work; he was tired when he got home, so naturally, I pretended I was a lot more with it than I actually was and wouldn't let him help me with Dean when he got home insisting he go to bed early. He'd figured out pretty quick the next day that I'd lied.

My benevolent intentions got me spanked. Cas of course, gave me twenty-four hours to admit to my lie, as per usual and I did, but after that he became obsessed with me getting enough 'down time,' just until I recovered the lost sleep. He hadn't really wanted to spank me then either, but I'd broke a rule _and_ it cost me a chunk of my well-being, so he did it reluctantly with the promise that he'd spend the next week making sure I would 'return to full health.' He proceeded to take the week off and normally, I would have loved that, but he's been driving me up the wall. I feel plenty rested and much as I hate to say it, he's cramping Dean's and my style a bit.

"And hey! How about tomorrow we go to that moddler group together? I bet Dean misses his wife."  
He's so excited, I can't dash all that happiness. "I think that sounds great, Cassy. Dean will like that."

"Perfect. So I'll just leave you here to relax… I think I hear Dean rolling around on the monitor… You've got nothing to worry about, Baby."

I've got plenty to worry about. Cas forgets that even when he _assisted_ me in looking after my younger family members, he never once packed the diaper bag. Not to mention, each kid is different in his wants and needs—I have some staples I always stock the bag with, but depending on the activity I make modifications from what I've learned of Dean.

He kisses my forehead and leaves. I really do try to fall back asleep, but I'm too entertained and horrified, by what I can hear on the baby monitor.

~SDC~

"I'm Henry the eighth I am, Henry the eighth I am, I am…" Yeah. There's no way my singing or the words sound that fucking good, but I am singing out loud. A lot of it's not actual words but attempts at words that are smooshed together and garbled sounding. I'm not so embarrassed about talking anymore. I do the best I can; Daddy understands me fine, but sometimes has to translate for Papa.

I can say my name though and I'm pretty damn proud of that. I can also say; car, Mama (I've found use for it, I tease Daddy by calling him that sometimes), Nana (for when we go visit Daddy's mama), hi, bye, again and yeah.

Learned it all in just four days—yep, I'm going to be a genius in this life.

I'm wrapped all around my favorite blue blanket, lying on my back, watching the sun come into my room—life's pretty sweet. My head doesn't even hurt anymore. Daddy says the swelling's pretty much gone and the bruise has already changed color. Speaking of Daddy, he'll come in and get me soon; I wonder what we'll do today? I know Papa's been home the last two days. Daddy won't say it to Papa, but I think he's getting a bit on Daddy's nerves. That's something new. You'd think Papa crapped out sunshine with the way Daddy worships and obeys him.

What? It's just an observation; I'm not trying to be crude.

Aren't I surprised when it's not Daddy who comes to get me, but Papa.

And this is _not_ okay with me, because no one gave me the fucking memo of the schedule changes. I narrow my eyes at him.

"Did you wake up in a bad mood, Dean?"

"No. Dah-dee," I say, which should be pretty fucking clear. I'm sitting up now, clutching the blanket to me and it's a good thing too, because without warning, he's pulling me out of my crib.

"It's you and me today, Kiddo. Daddy needs a rest."  
What? That doesn't sound like Daddy at all; this has Papa written all over it. Daddy wasn't able to talk him out of whatever ridiculous idea he's got planned, but maybe I can. It's hard to articulate what I want to say with my limited vocabulary, but basically it boils down to this: "Uh-oh, Pa-pah."

"So you _and_ your Daddy have no faith in me. Tough crowd. I'll show you two."

Unfortunately for Papa I can already point out a few mistakes he's making and I could be a helpful, good little boy, but that's not my style.

For instance, Daddy gives me more singing time while he chats with me about the day and gets the change table ready for me to be changed, since by then, I'm usually pretty raring to go, so excited, he has to wrangle me into my diaper.

He never lets me keep my blanket—he thinks it will get lost, or in the least dirty and I _do not_ sleep without it. That's a pretty new development.

Papa's taking me straight to the change table with nothing on it; I still have my blanket. To his credit, he does try to take it away, but I scream bloody murder. "Okay, Dean. I guess Daddy let's you keep that for diaper changes," he mumbles to himself.

Hmmm… Maybe this is going to be Dean gets away with everything day. Daddy's under the impression I wheedle my way out of everything with cuteness, but in actuality, I get to do about twenty-five percent of the stuff I actually want to do. There are things Daddy will not budge on—but if Papa's trying to show Daddy he can 'do this,' and I'm assuming the 'this,' is take care of me on his own, he'll probably try to 'mimic' Daddy with helpful Dean to guide him…

This day has the potential to be awesome.

Papa plunks me down on the change table and he seems in a rush, he's changed my diaper plenty, but not in the morning when I've got the most energy and there's a particular morning routine to follow.

_He doesn't know it. Dean likes routine now._

He reaches underneath to grab a diaper as he says, "lay down, Baby Boy." But he didn't use the magic word.

I say, "no!" At the same time he realizes there's nothing to grab on the change table's shelf—Daddy must not have restocked the diapers yet.

"You stay put, Dean. Papa's just going to go to the closet and come right back. Least I hope that's where the extra diapers are…" He says the last part to himself.

I decide to help myself to my soother, which is in the hand underneath my blanket. I usually wait for Daddy to say, "where's Dean's sue?" Then I surprise him with it by popping it up toward his face. I usually don't have my blanket and it's always just in my hand—honestly, I don't know how it always surprises him I have it; my hands aren't that big, can't he see it?

All in all, I'm just glad he stopped calling it a 'suckie.' I taught Daddy 'sue,' I'm much better with that name for it; it's slightly cooler.

I get bored real quick and I don't feel like having Papa change my diaper. I want Daddy to do it; I wonder if I can climb down from here. It looks far, but I bet if I grip on and hang from the edge then drop, kinda like I've done when dropping from say, a second story of a house back in my hunting days.

Then I'll go get Daddy and stop all this nonsense.

I flip around. I'm going to have to leave blanket (not Mr. Blanket, not Blankenstien, not beddy-bye blanket like Daddy calls it, just blanket. I don't name shit in cutesy names like Mr. Cuddles, yuck!) because I need two hands for this.

I'm crawling backward, slowly scooching off the table, making sure I have a good grip on the edge before I drop both legs. I _think_ I've got it, if not, I'm going for a tumble. I start slipping down, and I'm good. Huh. These puny arms are stronger than I thought. But I'm startled when Papa turns back around. Oh yeah, forgot about him—he was in the closet awhile.

"Shit! Dean!"

That scares me and I let go, Papa runs to save me just in time, his steady hands catching me from under my armpits. But there was a split second I was dropping, which meant I was kicking (I don't know why, it's not like there was anything to latch my feet on to) and I kick a bottle of baby powder, which Daddy just had to leave open.

It goes flying, Papa can't catch it because his hands are full of Dean; baby powder's flying everywhere as many, many expletives fly from his mouth—and they're not the fudge and fiddlesticks kind Daddy uses. The puff of white dust has me coughing and kicking more. Papa sneezes.

Wow! So far this is turning out to be a great day. I was wrong, this is fucking rad. I'm laughing, well giggling actually and Papa turns me around to face him, a queer look on his face. He doesn't know whether to scold me, or start laughing himself. I think he's also trying to recall just how many curse words he used and wondering if I'll try'em on for size.

 _I'm_ wondering if Papa remembers the baby monitor is still on and if Daddy's gone downstairs by now, or is still in their room. If he's still there, Papa is _so_ getting his mouth soaped out.

All of this combined is good fodder for my continued giggles.

Papa finally decides on a mild scolding. "No climbing, Dean. You scared Papa."

Scaring Papa's not the same as scaring Daddy though. You can take it Papa, I say with my eyes, but I stop laughing; his scolding voice is a bit scary.

"Anyway, I can't find your diapers… Do you know where he keeps them?"

I shake my head. "Uh-oh!"

"Fudge," he says. "Okay, let's go on a diaper hunt, Kiddo."  
But before we can leave the nursery, Daddy's there, calm as you please, holding an entire stack of diapers. He's not saying a word, but that says everything.

"Sam—" Papa begins angrily.  
Daddy cuts him off for once. After a more in depth appraisal, Daddy looks mad. "Not a word Castiel Grace—you can let this go, do you know why?"  
It's a rhetorical question Papa. Don't answer… don't answer…  
"Because—"  
"Because of the deplorable language I heard you use in front of the baby." Daddy flicks his eyes to the baby monitor and Papa's eyes follow.

"Thanks, traitor," Papa says to me realizing I probably remembered about that and I have to hide a smile. "I'm sorry, Baby, he almost fell—"

"Was that what all that ruckus was about? Cas, you can't take your eyes off of him."  
"Yeah, I see that." He's embarrassed.  
Daddy's look softens marginally, he's still pissed though and it's awesome. I can count on my hands how many times I've seen Daddy take Papa out. "You better start praying to the man upstairs that Dean doesn't repeat a single word of that tirade, Mister. I can't soap his mouth out, but I can and will soap yours."

"Hey! Why do I get an extra thing—I'm going to overlook you disobeying my orders about getting out of bed so early _because_ of the cussing. That should be fair squared at that," Papa complains.

Daddy won't be swayed. "Not one cuss word, Cas. And another thing, if you bring my baby back with one tiny scratch on his pretty little head after this batch of Tom Foolery you've cooked up, they'll be hell to pay."

I think I hear Papa mumble something about goose eggs on heads, but he's wise enough to say, "yes, Ma'am," out loud.

"Good. Have a good day with your papa, sweetheart," he says giving me a much needed Daddy kiss on the top of my head and putting the diapers down on the rocking chair for Papa. "Go easy on him," he whispers in my ear.

~SDC~

Papa decides to grab a diaper and change me downstairs on the floor of the living room after that incident and I think it might have a bit to do with being away from baby monitors. I've still got blanket and Papa is about to actually change my diaper.

Yeah. Things are taking forever this morning. I'd probably be eating by now if it were Daddy doing things.

"Okay, Dean. Lie down, so I can change your diaper, please."  
Finally, a magic word. About fucking time. I think 'fuck's' got to be a magic word too, just maybe not to Daddy.

I lie down, but I feel squirmy. I'm bored. Daddy usually gives me something to look at, or talks to me. Papa's mostly changed me when I'm sleepier, probably planned that way by Daddy—he's never changed me while I'm this lively.

"Hold still, Dean."

"Uh!" I whine as I try to twist around.

"Dean, hold still for Papa."

"No!" I say from behind my soother. I'm blowing this Popsicle stand.  
He sighs getting frustrated when I won't obey his commands like I've noticed Daddy does.

He gently pushes me back to the floor and holds me down while he undoes my sleeper and takes my diaper off, but that's as far as he gets before my whines build to a cry. Papa's pretty strong. I can't get out from under his hold, but I'm sure my strong lungs hurt his ears at least, seeing as they're not pulling on his heartstrings—cold-hearted bastard!

It's hard and it takes him forever, but he does wrangle me into a diaper. He stops there though and lets me up; I stop crying immediately, but I'm sniffling. "I'm sorry, Buddy. Papa didn't mean to make you cry. Maybe Sam's right, I do suck at this," he says the last part to himself.  
Ah, man. I feel kind of shitty. Papa's trying his best; I can tell he's upset.

Okay, okay. I'll give him one break, but I make no promises for the rest of the day. There might be some things I want to do.

It's hard, but I'm able to start yanking my arms out of the sleeper that's undone and hanging from my body. I struggle with it a second or two, before Papa offers, "you want my help?"

"Yeah."  
Papa smiles. "Okay." He helps me take the sleeper the rest of the way off. "What next?"  
"Uh!" I say pointing to my shirt. It's so not what I would have picked—Daddy always lets me pick—I'm doing Papa a huge favor here, he so owes me. He pulls the shirt over my head; I stick my arms through.

"And now?"  
I point to the pair of shorts he picked for me; he helps me into those too.

Daddy always cleans up his messes behind him, but Papa already looking exhausted leaves all the diaper stuff and my sleep clothes behind him.

We head to the kitchen. Andrew the Chef is still there, but it looks like he's finishing up and has already got stuff in the oven for us. "'Ello little pastry puff," he says to me after he's greeted Papa formally.

"Hi," I say, waving from Papa's hip.  
"You've learned some new words I see."  
I can say 'yeah,' but just I nod and hide into Papa's neck.  
"Very well, little Dean." He turns to Papa. "Everything is ready for you in there, would you like me to serve you, sir?"  
_Take the help, take the help, take the help!_

"No thank-you Andrew, I can manage."  
Bad move Papa, bad move.  
And then as if he's just remembered: "But if you could take one up to Sam that would be helpful."  
"Of course, sir."

He leaves and Papa straps me into my highchair; I've still got blanket clutched to me. "Least I know you can't climb out of there."  
Want to make a bet, Papa? I've picked harder locks than that flimsy little latch on the side, I'm sure I could… Okay, no, no I can't. I have tried; this thing's more solid than a sarcophagus. Still, he doesn't have to throw it in my face. That's it. The truce is off. Besides, he had his one free-bee.

Papa retrieves two plates from the oven, a bigger one for him and a smaller one for me. The plates are hot though, so he leaves them on the table and away from my tray. He proceeds to try feeding me. I don't like it. This is not how Daddy does it, he gives me things on my tray and I feed myself.

I scowl at him and refuse to open my mouth when he puts the fork of eggs to my mouth. "C'mon Dean, you eat this and we'll go out, somewhere fun. Papa thought maybe he could take you to the beach…"

"No!"  
"No, you don't want to go to the beach?"  
"No!"  
"No you don't want to eat?"  
"No!" I want to eat; I just want to feed myself. I bang my free hand—the one not holding blanket—on the tray I'm so frustrated. Understand me Papa!  
"Oh! Dean wants to do it?"  
Huh? Did he actually figure something out? "Yeah!" I say smiling.  
"Sorry, Dean. It's hot, I know Daddy gives you food at dinner, but it's usually had time to cool a bit," he explains.  
Yeah. Which is why Daddy usually takes the food out of the oven, while I run around doing odd tasks for him whether it be hunting spiders, looking for lost objects, or building him a tower out of blocks. I have important jobs in the morning; of which, none are getting done today.

Papa's a real smart man, which is why I want to ask him if he's been drinking; he seems unusually frazzled this morning. Maybe he's scared 'cause of what Daddy said?

"Okay, let's wait a minute and I know what we can do while we wait."  
You do? No offence, but it hasn't seemed that way so far.  
"We'll sing something—weren't you singing when I came in this morning?"  
I nod. "Yeah."  
"Okay then. My father taught me this song when I was a little boy." He clears his throat; I'm riveted.  
Suddenly, Papa is transformed from boring, straight-laced Papa, to something else entirely—something fun.

_"Fiddle on a cornstalk, fiddle all day. Fiddle up a tune in the old style way. 1, 2, 3, 4, ready set go, play a corn fiddle and a shoe string bow."_

He starts clapping his hands and getting my hands to clap… it's kind of a catchy tune.

 _"Sack up the barely, shuck up the corn, play my fiddle 'till the middle of the morn. Listen to the rooster, listen to the crow. Play my fiddle for the Baby-o!"_  
When he's finished, I'm clapping. "'gain, Pah-pa."  
"Again? Wait. There's still more, Dean."  
He carries on singing three more verses. I make him sing the whole song three more times. I really like it. It's so fucking corny I wonder why Daddy hasn't sung it to me before, but I'm kinda glad he hasn't—it can be Papa's and my thing.

When he feels the food has cooled, he puts food on my tray like he's supposed to and I start simultaneously using the spoon and my hand to shovel food in.  
"Slow down, Kiddo," he says in his stern voice that's a bit scary. "Papa doesn't want you to choke."

I do, but I also think that maybe he shouldn't give me so much at one time if he wants me to slow down. You give Dean food; Dean eats food.

"Shoot… wait, shoot's not a curse word to Daddy is it?" He asks.  
I don't think it is. Daddy usually says 'shucks' though. I shake my head. "No."  
I think it's weird he doesn't know though, doesn't he know better than I do about Daddy?  
"Good. He's suddenly a lot stricter about that since you, there's no telling what he considers a curse word these days—best to go with his mama's rules on that, huh, baby boy?"

"Yeah." I'm not really sure actually, but he seems happy with his detective work, I'm not going to rain on his parade.

"But I was going to say, shoot, I didn't grab your juice—uh Daddy does give you juice every morning, yes? I've seen him do it, but man, I'm realizing I'm really wrapped up in work in the mornings and notice less than I thought I did."

Juice is kinda hard to say still, so I just say: "Yeah," and shove more egg in my mouth.

"Okay, chew good, I'm going to get you some juice." He puts more egg and tiny pieces of toast on my tray to work on. But like with the diapers he was looking for, it takes him far longer to get juice than it should have. He comes back with juice, but it's in a glass. And I mean a glass-glass as in one meant for Daddy or Papa and not little boys.

"I have no idea where the bottles are this morning. They're usually in that cupboard there," he says pointing. "I looked for a sippy cup, but Daddy doesn't seem to have any of those yet."

That's because Daddy moved the bottles when he saw I liked to play with pots and pans. He had to do some shuffling around of the kitchen to accommodate that. But they should be somewhere, I don't think Papa checked everywhere. Probably with the sippy cups, which I know Daddy has, but he usually gives me a bottle—I think he just likes to see me drink out of bottles. I can't wait to see how he puts me down for a nap without a bottle—second thought, maybe I'll get to skip that. Yeah, I know I'm fucked up: When Daddy keeps me up I want to nap, when he wants me to nap, I want to stay up—it's the way this kid stuff goes.

Drinking out of a glass sounds fun; it's been a while, but how hard can it be?

I reach grabby hands out to the glass. "Easy does it little cowboy, Papa's going to help— _you,_ Dean!"  
As Papa brings the glass toward me, I grab on with both hands and tug the glass, hard and unexpectedly to Papa, this sloshes juice all over the place, all over me and has the added bonus of dislodging the glass from Papa's hand. The glass falls on the tray and doesn't break, but juice is everywhere.

Cue, cute Baby Dean eyes. "Uh-oh, Pah-pa."  
Papa looks so irate he can't even move, but I'm not scared because I know he isn't mad at me—he'd let me know—I think Papa's mad at himself. Too proud to admit defeat, he takes a calming breath.

And I know what's he's thinking: Where to begin? I've not been fed nearly enough, but there's juice all over my tray, hell, there's juice all over the floor and me. This means not only does that have to be cleaned up, but I need to be cleaned up _and_ re-clothed, which was not easy in the first place…

I get bored waiting for him to decide, so I start splashing my hand in the juice and laughing. Daddy would _never_ let this happen in a million years, awesome!

Before I know it, something is nudging at my mouth and I open, an automatic response. "Mmmmmhmmm…" I say, it's bacon.  
"Oh, now I can feed you, now that you're busy playing with the juice."  
Duh. That's the name of the game Papa—distract, distract, distract. I know it, doesn't mean it stops working on me.

He does move the glass, probably feeling lucky it didn't break and not willing to tempt fate twice—and he seriously shouldn't, I've dealt with that bitch before.

I continue to splash, getting him and myself messier with sticky juice and he gets a good amount of food into me. "You look like a juice monster Dean." 

I laugh. "Yeah!"  
"Okay, well now we have to start again. I think you're going to need a bath though, you're ick!"  
Daddy and I taught him that one. "Deean, ieechk!"

"Yeah, eeechk!" 

He doesn't have to say it like me, I should be trying to say it like him, that's what Daddy taught me. I shake my head.  
"Your blanket's got juice on it too…"  
Suddenly I become very possessive over blanket, I use my sticky juice hands to pull it close to me. "Mine!"  
"Okay, okay, at least let me wipe it off?"

All right. I will allow that. He begins taking apart the highchair and unstrapping me, I notice he's barely touched his breakfast. Hmmm. He leaves the messy, juice tray on the kitchen table and begins stripping me down starting with my shirt.

"Bottom half of you is not as bad as I thought, cancel the bath, how about just some new pants and a wipe down?"

"Yeah," I say as he divests me of the slightly wet pants. The juice didn't soak through to my diaper. He puts me down on the floor. Now I'm free to roam in just a diaper, which would have bothered me before, it doesn't so much now. In fact, I love being naked.

"I'll just wipe off your blanket. Sadly, maybe I'll leave this mess for the staff today…"

Daddy only did that once and he felt guilty about it. Papa looks to feel a bit guilty too, but he is leaving a lot of messes, maybe he should start cleaning some of them up.  
"I want to get you out of here before, Daddy comes down, which is going to be soon. I'm a little behind schedule."

I hear a little of what he's saying, but there's juice on the floor under the highchair and if splashing with hands was fun, think about how much fun feet would be.

Papa's busy wiping off blanket, so I toddle over to the juice and start smashing my feet in it—kick-ass! When I grow up, I'm going to be one of those dudes who smash grapes with his feet.

"Dean Daniel quit getting messy!" Papa yells. But I don't understand. He let me do it with hands, what's the difference with feet? But his voice is more than a bit scary, this time he _is_ mad at me, so I run away from the juice. Only problem is there's juice all over my feet and now there's a trail of juice footprints across the floor.

I decide to hide under the table 'till he's finished. I don't want him to yell at me again. I won't cry though.

Moments later, Papa's crouching low with two peace offerings for me: Blanket and sue. "C'mere, Angel. Papa's sorry he yelled. I didn't mean to make you cry. Papa's not that great with babies, he's slowly realizing."

Not. Sniff. Crying.

I reach my arms out to him and he let's me cuddle up to blanket, putting my soother in my mouth for me. I suck hard and wipe at my eyes as he takes me over to the sink and sits me on the counter beside. He takes a soft cloth (Daddy always keeps some handy there) and runs it under the water; it's warm when he starts with my face and arms. He continually re-wets it as he cleans the different pieces of me.

"You know Dean, you get to be all messy again soon. The beach has sand."  
Sand? I perk up. I like sand.

"And we can find little crabs under the rocks."  
Really? Like, hunting crabs?  
"You like the sound of looking for crabs? Hey, guess it's kinda like we'd be hunting, huh?"  
That's what I just said, or well, thought I guess. "Yeah."  
I think about that as he continues to de-juice me. "There we go. Dean's all clean!"

~SDC~

I should have let Sam pack me a diaper bag—Sam'll say, "I swear Castiel Grace, that pride of yours in going to kill you someday."

I just wanted to do everything—thought I could. It was much easier when Dean was an older toddler, but at his age now there isn't much I can do to correct his naughtiness…  
But that's just the thing. It's not naughtiness. He doesn't mean to do any of it; he's just a baby and babies are curious. I think I'm learning though. Better to distract Dean than to yell.

You thought I was going to say I learned to, 'always listen to my husband, didn't you?" No. I learned that a long time ago, but when I get worried about him, all that logic and reasoning goes to hell. He knows that, which is why he gently tried to talk me out of this plan.

But like the stubborn mule I am, I shut him down.

If I'm going to make it through this day, I've got to wrap an extra leash around my temper. I feel like the world's biggest jerk making Dean cry like that—you should have seen his face. And he was scared of me. I never want him to be scared of me like that. But I'm used to control… extreme control. With a baby there is none.

If only those psychologists knew all they had to do was give me a baby I loved as much as Sam for a day. And I have to give credit to my father for this too. He told Sam and I years ago that having a child would change things for us at least somewhat. I didn't believe and I didn't see it when Dean was older; I see it more now. Speaking of all that stuff, a call to my father about this would be a good idea.

That was all Sam's idea too by the way. After seeing therapists, rejecting my family for a time and almost resorting to drugs, Sam urged me to reconnect with them. That's why now I can say I'm proud to share my more eccentric traits with them—that wasn't always the case, for awhile I hated my inherited traits. But once I was able to embrace who I am, talking to my father _and_ and the rest of my family made more sense than any psychologist.

Still, I found it profitable to get some outside opinions. And I saw many therapists. The ones I've already mentioned were most notable; you'd get bored if I listed them all.

Getting Dean dressed is so much easier the second time. Apparently, he's less lively after food and I gave him his car to play with. Dean doesn't seem to put things in his mouth, a thing I do remember Sam saying, but to be sure; I have it plugged with his soother.

"Okay Dean. We're off like a pack of turtles." He laughs at me.  
He won't let me take away the blanket. I didn't realize Sam let him have that so much. It was getting all dirty, but I guess blankets can be washed, so I don't see any problems with him having it. Maybe this is a new thing?

I managed to get a diaper bag packed; though admittedly, I didn't really pack anything (don't tell Sam). I didn't see why he made such a big deal. It's stocked full. It has diapers, cream, wipes, there are even crackers and extra socks and a couple of those little organic juice boxes.

I'm feeling on a high for the first time this morning, until we go out to the car and Dean throws a fit.

It starts off okay, but by the end he's in a full tantrum.

"Uh-oh, Pah-pa," he says from behind his soother and points to the black SUV. I had been planning to drive us, but after this morning, I'll let the driver take us. Oh and, uh, don't tell Sam about that either.

"What's wrong Dean?"  
He points as the black SUV and shakes his head. "No Pah-pa. Dee-an's car."  
He's so cute when he says 'car' it sounds like 'caw.'  
"No baby boy. Daddy's taking Dean's car today."  
He scowls like I've never seen him. "No!" And wriggles to get down, squirming hard enough I only put him down because I'm afraid I'll drop him.  
"Bad," he says pointing at the SUV.  
"You're being silly, Dean. It's just a car…" I say trailing off because I didn't think a baby could look so demonic. For a second, I swear I see his eyes turn black.

"No! No! No!" He screeches before running around like he's possessed, tripping, falling to the ground face first then cries because he's hurt himself. I go over to pick him up, but he yells 'no!' at me again.

I crouch by him as he cries and pounds his hands into the ground, kicking his feet.

"Dean—"  
"Ba-ad, Pah-pa!"  
Huh?  
"Carrrr…" He whines.  
"I know you want Dean's car," I say as calmly as possible. "We can't have Dean's car today."

He continues to sob and I have no idea what to do. How do you stop a baby tantrum? It would be better if he was on the grass, but at least he's not on the pavement. He's in the dirt. I just changed his clothes! How does Sam keep him so clean? Carry him around in bubble wrap all day?

Every time I try to pick him up, thinking it will be okay, he screams bloody murder and I have to look around to make sure no one is looking over, thinking I'm killing my child. Though I'm sure the driver is thinking many things, or is at least amused… I think he mentioned he's got kids once. I'm worried about Dean though and it gets worse the longer he does this; which seems like an eternity. It's been… oh, it's only been two minutes. Feels like a friggin' eternity. My whole body feels tense, I have to take some calming breaths.

What the hell would Sam do?

I'm almost ready to give in and go begging to Sam, give him whatever he wants, if he'll just stop Dean from freaking out. But in a last ditch effort; I rack my brain. I try to think if I've ever witnessed a tantrum of this magnitude since he's been this little and I don't think I have… I didn't think this began 'till the terrible twos…  
Actually, that sparks my memory. I'd helped Sam plenty with his younger family members, his cousin Alex threw a lot of tantrums like this, worse.  
Then I suddenly remember. I remember what he did.

I crouch down by Dean and tell him firm, but gently. "When you're all done being upset, Papa's right here." He's still babbling about Dean's Car and part of me wishes I had just said yes in the first place, but though I may not know much about little boy freak-outs, I can guess if I give him what he wants now, they're sure to increase.

No. I'm stuck in this one. I've got to wait it out. I continue to reassure him I'm around and finally, finally he calms down; still a sniffling mess, but no longer screeching. I approach the Dean-mon child.

I'm surprised when I go to pick him up this time and he _wants_ to come to me. He's all full of dirt, but we're going to the beach anyway so I'll let him stay messy for now and planning change him after we play in the sand. "Thank-you for calming down, baby boy. You going to be okay, now?"

He shakes his head. "Sue?"  
Right, that. Oh. The one he had is on the ground and full of dirt. Crap. I fish into the diaper bag and decide I'm going to reward my husband with multiple orgasms for having the forethought of packing an extra soother. "Here you go, Dean."

He accepts it with a shuddering inhale. I rock him and soothe him until I'm sure he's at least done crying. "C'mon. Let's go have fun at the beach.

~SDC~

I glare at Papa the entire ride. He was quick to give me blanket when we got in the SUV, I'm sucking on my soother vengefully, thinking about how I can get him back for this. I want to ride in Baby, not this hunk of junk. Daddy takes me to see her almost everyday.

"C'mon Dean. We're going to have fun… remember, the crab? The sand?"

I take my soother out for a second. "Car." I pop it straight back in.

"Yeah, yeah. Papa's in the doghouse. How 'bout a bribe? I could make it up to you with…"  
He's floundering for something, I wish I could fill in the blanks with the word candy. I give it my best shot, it doesn't sound so good, but it's my lucky day… Papa understands me.

"Candy?" He confirms.  
"Yeah."

Son of a bitch! I've died and gone to heaven, haven't I? Wait, scratch that, those Angel dicks are even bigger dicks than Crowley. I'll settle for Candyland.

Then Daddy will serve him his balls on a platter, since Daddy really, really hates candy for some reason; win-win for Dean Winchester. And before you tell me I'm an asshole, you try living a morning with everything turned upside down and no Daddy and then have your car insulted. Just a car my tiny tush…

"Driver—" Papa instructed him to turn around.  
Turns out Papa wasn't _as_ dumb as I thought. We went to the candy store all right, but I didn't get any of the things I wanted. He realized just about everything in there was a choking hazard for a one and a half year old, so I ended up with licorice and a few suckers.

That's fine. Candy is candy and I've haven't tasted the syrupy goodness in weeks.

~SDC~

I like this sand business. Can't remember the last time I've been to a beach. I like scrunching my toes in the sand and filling up the bucket Papa gave me with said sand then dumping it on him.

And I get to be shirtless! I've already seen a few of the little ladies… and gents checking out my hot bod. Papa lathered me in baby friendly sunscreen of course, and I have a hat, which is one of those lame, cutesy baby ones, but it's hard to care when I'm having so much fucking fun!

I completely forgive Papa for the whole car thing. Besides, there's another sucker and some licorice still in the bag for me. I plan on eating that for lunch, since I'm pretty sure Papa's brought nothing except the crackers and juice Daddy always has stocked in the diaper bag.

We have fun hunting the crab. Papa flips rocks over and tons of them race out in a mad panic to get away from us. I want to catch one, but they're too fast for me. When Papa catches one, I think he's amazing! How'd he do that?

He puts it in my hand. "Don't smush him."

The little dude freezes up for a minute when Papa puts him in my palm and I squeal with delight as he starts crawling up my arm. Eventually he falls off my arm and back to the sand, it kinda sucks when he's gone. "Uh-oh?"  
"Yeah, he's gone. They don't like being out of their homes—he's gotta go back to his parents."

Oh. "'Gain, Pah-pa?"  
He smiles big. "Yeah, let's get find you some more."

We even get to dip into the water a little after we're done hunting crab (I wanted to bring one home for Daddy, but Papa explained again how they'd be missed by their parents too much; that we'd just have to bring Daddy here to show him sometime). Before I know it, my eyes are drooping and damn if I'm not getting tired. Daddy has my little body set up like clockwork I guess—I nap at the same time everyday and it knows it. I fight sleep for as long as I can, but I start to rub my eyes. Thankfully, Papa had the forethought to wipe the sand outta my hands after we'd finished playing in it—sand in my eyes would fucking suck.

"Does Papa have a tired boy?"  
"No!" I'm not having a nap; I'm splashing in the water.  
"C'mon Dean. I have an idea. Papa forgot to bring lunch, since I was pretty frazzled. How about we walk along the seawall and find a hot dog stand or fish and chip place?"

Something sounds very fishy about this idea, but I'm a sucker for food, especially anything fried or made from mysterious parts. I reach my hand up to Papa's with plans of walking back through the water then the sand myself. Besides, I'm scared if he picks me up, I'll fall asleep. Papa thinks I'm cute.  
"Dean likes the beach, huh?"  
"Yeah."

We get back to our spot where we laid towels and left the diaper bag. "Papa better give you a quick diaper change before we go up there."

Huh? I'm rubbing my eyes again and not really listening, but I get it when lays me down on the towel. I don't even fight him. "Yeah, you're not sleepy at all, yet you're a very different little boy from this morning," he says with a little tickle to my bare belly. But I can barely laugh. Wow. The beach is exhausting.

I have to fight to stay awake—stupid tiny body. Papa's laughing at me; Daddy would have put his foot down by now, he's very strict about naps, but Papa thinks it's inevitable I'll fall asleep and doesn't seem worried. I'll show him. I used to… yawn… stay up during stakeouts all the time…  
I try to focus on what he's saying, but Papa's voice is so low and soothing…

~SDC~

Instead of a sack of potatoes, I have a sack of baby. He didn't even make it through me changing his diaper before he conked out. I knew he wouldn't. I know he expected me to do what his Daddy probably does, but I intend to learn something from this day and while yes, I should take much instruction from my wise husband, Papa can do some things differently.

I knew he'd be exhausted, so I just waited instead of fighting with him. If that hadn't worked, my back-up plan was the walk in the stroller—he wouldn't have made it past a block without dropping off. I would have liked to have some lunch in his belly before he fell asleep—at least some milk, but that's where I messed up. I didn't pack any damn food. I'm usually prepared in general, that's not a mistake I would normally make, but I meant what I said to Dean, this morning really did frazzle me. I became so focused on Dean, I forgot all the stuff that isn't Dean I would need to take care of Dean. Yeah, I know, might sound dumb to you, but it's what happened.

But one day of hot dogs won't kill the Baby. And yes, I know to cut the hot dog up into small pieces—I won't let my baby choke. Though maybe we should try to find fish and chips…

I've got him set up in his stroller now and I'm walking along the sea wall with my half naked child. Turns out there was a onsie in the diaper bag, but no other pants, or shorts and Dean's shorts from the beach were destroyed, along with his blanket—both desperately need washing.

I walk along looking for a coffee shop, I'm starved (since I didn't eat much breakfast which forced me to steal some of my son's crackers and a piece of licorice) and could use the pick me up. I can't see Dean from behind the stroller, but I can see the people passing him and admiring how cute I know he looks passed out, his soft curls flopped across his face. If only Dean knew, he'd be pissed.

I find a coffee shop with tasty looking croissants and strong coffee and sit positioning Dean in the shade, so I can have a turn looking at his surly-sweet face. Such a conundrum our boy is. I watch Dean, I text Sam to let him know we're still alive and I read the paper I didn't have time to read this morning. An hour and two croissants later, Dean stirs rubbing his eyes with his little fists.

He looks around trying to figure out where he is and I only see it because I'm looking so intently at him: A shadow of fear crosses over his eyes. "Pah-pa?" He croaks, tears well up in his eyes.

"I'm here baby Dean," I say lifting him out of the stroller. "You didn't know where you were… Was that scary?"

"No," he denies as he buries into my neck; I try not to laugh.

"You know, I think we should go eat. How about it?" I say as I check his diaper.  
He nods into my neck. He's not as lively after his nap as he is in the morning I notice and he's more compliant. I hope that means he's getting used to Papa.

Or, not.

"Daddy?" He asks. And, okay, I'd be lying if I said I didn't feel a little bit bad—yes my main goal was to make Sam rest, but I was also hoping Dean and I would bond. We have at each of his stages; we haven't for this one. But I'm warmed to hear him mention his daddy and glad I can tell Sam he was missed—I know he'll wonder even if he doesn't ask.

"Daddy won't be there sweetheart, but we'll see him real soon, okay?"  
"Yeah," he says in a watery voice and now I just feel like the jerk who took away Daddy.

"Besides, we're going to do something Daddy won't like. Do you know what that is?"  
I have his attention. He leans back and looks up at me. "We're going to have fish and chips!"  
His eyes go wide and he smiles with an eager nod.

"Okay, let's go." I take him to the washroom, the one with the change table and change his diaper real quick. Unfortunately that's when he notices I haven't got pants for him. 

"Uh!" He says pointing to his naked, little thighs. "Uh-oh?"  
"I know. Bad Papa. I assumed there would be a change of clothes in the diaper bag—didn't really check. I'm sorry."  
He scowls at me.  
"We'll get you some, but don't you wanna eat first?"  
He sighs. "Yeah."

Thankfully, the food is enough to distract him; the boy loves french fries.

I take him to the little strip mall just off the seawall, not straying too far from our driver. He's the only one I've got with me today, I haven't seen the need for the same amount of security we had upon bringing Dean home, but Sam and I will most likely always have to have security around. Never mind our usual threats; now I have to worry about demons too. We get Dean pants and bottles. More important, he helps me pick the pants—he seems to like that.

Thinking we could start to head back now and seeing I've finally got a happy baby, I think maybe it's time to take him home. It's been a pretty full day.  
We step out of the mall and back into the warm sunshine.

A man walks past us and I notice he's pocketing his wallet into the seat of his jeans, but it falls to the ground in front of Dean's stroller, so I stop, pick it up, but when I look up about to call out, I notice the guy is on his cell phone and about to step out into oncoming traffic.

Thanking the lord for quick reflexes, I lunge with a jump and grab the guy from the bent arm he's holding the cell phone with and pull him backward, the car buzzes by as the man's cellphone falls, but I reach my other hand out to catch it.

He's staring looking at me amazed, naturally I check behind me for Dean who's seen the whole thing. His eyes are just as wide as the guy's I saved.

"Whoa, Buddy. Thanks—you're like an angel or something."

"Nope. Just a regular civilian."

"Well this civilian is grateful. Is there anything I can do to repay you?"

I don't even mean to do it. Things like this just happen. Every time it's the same and they always ask if there's anything they can do for me. Sam and I have so much; I'm just happy to be in the right place at the right time.

"That's really very kind," I say moving back behind the stroller, after handing him back his wallet. "But really, I'm just glad to have helped."  
"This handsome young man your son?"  
I can see the top of Dean's head nodding at him, even though the question was for me. I smile goofily imaging for a second that maybe Dean's proud to be my son. "Yes, this is my son, Dean."

"Well at least let me treat Dean to something, you see I own this toy store…"  
Turns out, he owns the largest toy store in the state, he offered to let Dean come in and pick whatever he wanted; as much as he wanted, in fact. He gave me his card and said to make sure to call him when we wanted to come in—he'd be there. He thanked me again, this time with tears in his eyes. "I felt the air of the car as it whipped past me—that was really a close one—you call me you hear?"

I only gave him my first name and the shortened version at that. I think the guy would have a heart attack if he found out Castiel Winchester saved his life. No, he'd suffered enough traumas for one day; I'll leave that for when we take Dean to the toy store.

"Look at that, Kiddo. You get to go to the big toy store."  
He tries not to look excited, but I don't need Daddy to de-code that look on his face—he wants to go. We've taken Dean to toy stores, but we try to be careful of buying too much. We can literally buy Dean anything; and some would argue we've already spoiled him over the top. In effort to at least try to keep it to a minimum, we try to keep our toy store visits few and far between.

There's something else in his eyes too. I'm not quite sure what, but it puts extra pep in my step.

~SDC~

One lousy text. All day and all I get is one lousy text—I'm going to kill that man when I get in the door.

Cas is the most considerate human being alive; until he gets focused on something then he can drop some balls. But boy do I ever like it when that something he's focusing on is me. At least I can trust that my baby is alive, but I would have liked to hear from him… hear both their voices.

There are going to be new rules after this.

Not to mention, I missed that little boy something fierce all day. I think it was too soon for me to be parted with him let alone him to be parted from me.

The Impala is always parked in our second, smaller garage. I call it 'Dean's car's house.' It's really cute when Dean tries to say that—he's mastered 'Dean's car,' still having a little trouble with 'house,' but at least he's trying. After I park, I head up the path, around the side of the house and stop short when I see what's lying in front of the door. I almost don't recognize it, it's so destroyed, or at least caked in sandy, muddy grime, but when I pick it up I confirm that yes, it's Dean's beddy-bye blanket.

He does not sleep without this. I took it out to wash once, and he freaked. How on Earth had Cas got him to bed without this?

The answer, of course, is he didn't get him to bed. I can hear the crying soon as I step in the door, I rush to the nursery.

Both of them are relieved to see me, Dean's eyes are puffy and red; he's been crying awhile. Dean practically dives into my arms telling me in mumbled toddler jargon about his blanket woes and Cas looks like a kicked puppy.

Dean sees I've got his blanket and the state of it. "Uh-oh?" He's still sobbing and breaking my heart.

"Yeah, uh-oh. But you know what? We're going to go wash it right now and it's going to be good as new—you want to help Daddy and Papa?" I make sure to include Cas. I know that look in this eyes; his perfectionism can't handle failure real well and I'll bet this day has been, bumpy, to say the least. He'll want to bolt to our bedroom.

"Yeah," he says and like magic stops crying, just sniffles with shuddery breaths.  
"Okay! Let's go. Cas," I say and tilt my head toward the door. He follows us silently.  
"Did my Dean Bean have fun today?"  
Suddenly, Dean is completely animated and full of smiles as he babbles about his day with Papa. I can't make out everything, but I know I hear something about sand (which explains beddy-bye blanket) and I think I hear something about fish (though that one's harder to make out) and there's definitely something about crab hunting, and then he says something I don't understand at all, but it's clear by the way he looks over at Cas with complete adoration in his eyes that Cas had another one of his Guardian Angel moments today. I know, because that's just how I look at Cas, so I understand the look.

Cas is looking at me like I'm the miracle though. "I don't get it… how did you… he's been crying for the past hour and a half… and where did you find that?"  
"It was right out front, Cassy."  
He runs a hand through his hair. "What is wrong with me today? Normally I would have thought to check there… I convinced myself I left it in the washroom at the coffee shop."  
"It can be mind-rattling when a baby's crying like that." I know it stilled my heart a moment; I just have lots of practice. "And if he's been crying that long, why didn't I get a phone call, Castiel Grace?"

"Can I say the same reason?" From the way he looks though, he _did_ think about that.  
"I swear that pride of yours is going to kill you someday, Sur."

When we get to the laundry room I let Dean put his blanket into the washing machine and pour in the soap. "Do you know what's going to happen, Dean?" I say to him.  
"Yeah."  
"It's going to get all clean, isn't it? Daddy will dry it and it will be all ready for your nap tomorrow."

Of course he didn't like the last part. "You're going to bed, Mister," I say in my stern voice, which is really hard when all I want to do is snuggle and cuddle him. I poke his belly. "But how about tonight Dean sleeps in Daddy and Papa's bed, huh? Daddy missed his Dean so much. What do you think, Papa?"  
"I think that's a good idea, Dean?"  
"Yeah," he says with a big yawn.  
"My tired boy."  
I've got him sitting on the washing machine now; Cas is leaned against the door jam all sexy like. I run a hand through Dean's hair and push his curls back and kiss his crown, taking a big inhale of his baby scent and sigh. God I missed him.

"Did he drink his bottle, Cas?"  
"Not really."  
"You mind making a new one up?"  
He looks at me a little sheepishly. "Of course."

I bring Dean upstairs and take him with me while I prepare myself for bed. Yeah Cas and I were going to watch a movie, but I have a good feeling Cas'll be too tired for a movie.

"Were you a little monster for your Papa today?" I say as I try to single handedly undress and put my sleep pants on. I have to put him down for quick seconds, but make sure not to put him down too long, he's tired and a bit cranky; he'll be quick to tears.  
"Uh-oh, Daddy."  
"Yeah, I know you didn't mean to Pumpkin Butter. You're used to our routine, but I'm sure you and Papa had lots of fun doing different things."

"Yeah," he says with another yawn. We may not need the bottle; I'm losing him fast.  
Cas comes up after I'm done brushing my teeth. "Where did you get that bottle? I don’t remember having bottles like those."  
"I bought them."  
I can't hold my laughter. "Bought them?"  
"I couldn't find any of Dean's bottles…"  
"Did you check the dishwasher? When I originally moved the cupboards around, so Dean could play with the pots and pans easier, I made the mistake of putting them too low. Dean sorta, chucked them and the sippy cups everywhere and call me paranoid, but I wanted to wash them all just in case."  
"No. Didn't check there."  
"Cassy… Where did my Alpha, go?" I laugh.  
"I know I… well you should have seen what happened this morning."  
"Did it involve mango-pineapple juice?"  
"Yeah. How did you know?"  
"Because Daddy went around behind hurricane Dean and Papa today."  
"You weren't supposed to do anything."  
"I wasn't leaving that for the staff, my mama taught me better than that. Here that bottle will be fine." Dean's clinging onto me like he thinks I'm going to disappear.

I can see Dean's almost getting to that overtired point every parent wants to avoid—the one where the child is clearly tired, but won't fall asleep. Dean's hard enough to get to sleep as is, I try my darndest to avoid this point.

I'm standing and swaying Dean from side to side as he drinks, but he's doing is usual 'Dean fighting sleep' thing. His eyes will close for ten seconds, he'll stop sucking then he'll jar them open and resume sucking rapidly.  
"C'mon Dean. Close your eyes—both Daddy and Papa are here."

But my urging does little, he keeps looking toward Cas who's still pouting a bit, I think Dean can tell his Papa feels badly.

I can see an idea forming on our little boy's face and he's pushing the bottle out of his mouth and pointing to the very small area I have for a couple of toys I keep there for Dean for the mornings I have to get ready when he's already awake.

"We're not playing with toys now, Dean Bean. It' sleepy time."  
But Dean points more urgently. "Uh! Dah-dee…" That's his frustrated 'Daddy, I'm trying to tell you something and you won't listen to me' plea. It's usually followed by tears at the best of times, so I decide that tonight, I'd better to indulge him.

I put him down by the toys and he squats down to find the one he's looking for. When I see what he grabs, I know just what Dean wants to say. He toddles back to me and demands to be picked up. I bring him over to Cas.

He keeps one hand gripped on my shirt saying he wants to stay with Daddy, but he reaches toward Cas with the toy. "Pah-pa!"

Cas is having a fit of bewildered awe as he reaches out and accepts the Superman figurine from Dean.  
"Pah-pa, Dah-dee," he explains to me.  
"Is Papa a real live super hero, Dean?"  
"Yeah."  
"You hear that Cassy, you're this little boy's hero."  
"Yeah I… Thanks, Dean. I don't know I'm worthy of that title, but I'm going to try."  
Dean curls his head into my neck shyly. He yawns yet again.  
"Okay, all little boy's are going to sleep now."  
Dean finally accepts his fate and nods, Cas stops us.  
"Wait. I have… an idea. Remember that song we used to do for, Kennedy when she couldn't sleep?"

It just so happens, I do. I change Dean's position, so his chest is against mine and leave the rest of his bottle for tonight. "Goodnight sweetheart well, it's time to go-oo…" I begin slow, smiling at my husband like an in love fool.  
"Buh, doh-dee-oh-doe…"  
"Good-night sweetheart well, it's time to go-oo…"  
"Buh, doh-dee-oh-doe…"  
We sing together: "We hate to leave you but we really must say, goodnight sweetheart, goodnight…"

I have to keep myself from laughing—if only people could see us, they'd think we were nuts. I love it. We carry on with the rest of the song and sing it as much as needed 'till Dean drifts off peacefully.

~SDC~

We leave Dean in the center of our large bed with stacks of pillows on either side of him. The chance of him rolling off our large bed is minimal, but we're of course, paranoid. I want to talk to my dear husband. My earlier anger has died off—I can never stay mad at him for long, but we still need to talk and I'm not leaving it 'till morning.

We don't go far—just outside the bedroom, leaving the door slightly ajar.

"Cassy—"  
Cas gets down on his knees and hugs around my legs. "I'm so sorry, Baby. I'm an idiot."  
"No, just a darn fool. Get back up here," I don't like when he kneels in front of me. I appreciate the gesture, but to us kneeling has different meanings than it might to the average Joe, none of which I want from Cas.

He rarely gets like this; today was hard for him and I'll bet I know why.

He stands back up still looking miserable. "Tell me what happened today, Cassy."  
He recounts their day beginning to end. It doesn't sound that bad to me, but to Cas it's the worst thing in the world. I know how he gets when he feels like he's failing me. It hasn't happened very often in all the time we've known each other. Cas is naturally an in charge, take charge individual. Good with disasters and problem solving, not much sets him spinning.

But today he was very un-Cas like. It's because he cares for Dean as much as he cares for me, something that terrifies him. He's glad he loves me as he does, but at the same time he wishes he didn't. It's always been something out of his control despite the illusion of control we surround it with. Now he's got two of us to obsess over… and I get it, I know what he's thinking: 'How am I supposed to keep Dean safe when there's nothing I can do to ensure he'll behave?'

Babies don't understand consequences, least not at Dean's age. Best you can hope for is that your stern voice will deter them until you can distract them with something else.

"Oh, Cassy. You did just fine. It's sounds like you let him walk all over you—remember I said he was a monster? Dean will take advantage of you if you let him. He weaseled the works out of you today: His beddy-bye blanket, fried foods, _candy…_ " I am not pleased about the candy, but I'll let it go this once.

"But remember the first day? You told me I was too harsh with him. And I yelled at him Sam—I yelled at a baby. I feel like the world's biggest dick. He was terrified; hid under the table…"

"We all make mistakes Cassy. And that day we spoke about Dean, I was just trying to get you to understand that he's not 'big Dean' anymore, you can't talk to him like he is and expect him to comply. I didn't mean you couldn't be stern with him; it's okay to set boundaries and not give him everything he wants."

"I just… I felt like I should know all this by now. I've helped you often enough."  
"Well… helping is a lot different than being around a kid full time."  
"I'll say."  
I laugh at him.  
"Sam? Will you… teach me? I know my relationship with him will always be different, but I want to have some of what you have with him."

"Believe me, you already do. He worships you Cas, but if it'll make you feel better, of course I'll teach you what I know—but honestly, every kid is different, half the time I make it up as I go along. And… I'm at fault too, I'm totally a baby Dean hog. We'll make an effort to get Dean some more Papa time."  
That makes him smile and I can see the relief flood through him. Cas likes plans. "He missed you too you know—I know you probably thought about him all day. That's another thing I should have done: Called you, but I—"  
"Wanted to prove you could do everything yourself and you would have been too tempted to ask for my help?"

"Yeah," he says embarrassed.  
"Well you should have called me, but I forgive you—besides, you're going to promise to call me next time. It's a new rule."

"That, so? What happens to me if I don't?"

I give him a not so nice glare.  
"All right. All right. I don't wanna find out anyway. I promise I'll call next time I need help."

"Thanks, Cassy."

"How was your day? Did you enjoy your massage?"  
"Did you book a massage for me?" I ask with the corner of my mouth tugging upward.  
"Oh shit! I forgot…"  
"It's okay, Cassy. When I saw the trail of destruction, I figured you had little time for anything else. I called myself—it was good by the way."  
"That's good, Baby." I can see some of the real Cas trickling back into my husband. His eyes are darkening and little by little the self assured posture he always carries sets into this limbs. He pulls me to him and I go limp letting him do whatever he wants to do to me; all he does is kiss me, but it's a tingly kiss; like a first kiss. I'm a dewy-eyed tween when he pulls away.

"Today was good. I had many realizations—I'm going to call Father."  
I nod. I'm glad. Once upon a time I had to coax him into calling his father.  
"Good."  
"And one night very soon, I'm going to show you my appreciation in the form of multiple orgasms."  
"Cas—as much as, yes you can get me off all night, anytime; don't do it to make anything up to me…"

"It's not like that, Baby. Really. I wouldn't change a thing about today even if it wasn't what I expected. You needed rest and you got it. I felt shitty about my inability to handle baby Dean, but I was glad to see just how incompetent I am."  
"You're not incompetent Cas."

"Maybe incompetent's too harsh, but my report card would say 'needs improvement.'"  
I shake my head. I don't agree. He may not be the same as me, but he provides things for Dean I can't; we're a good balance. There can't be a Sam without Cas, or a Cas without Sam—it's better we're not alike.

"I can't believe you sang him 'Fiddle on a Cornstalk.'"  
"I was desperate."  
"No. It was good. I'll bet Dean loved that—it's just, you hated that song as a kid."  
"He did love it. I'll do anything to make our son happy; and you know? Don't hate the song now. Now it's paired with his smile."

"All right Superman. Let's go lay with our boy—tomorrow is going to be a better day."  
I move to tug him into the bedroom, but he tugs my hand and spins me so I'm pressed against the wall, he yanks my sleep pants down exposing my still slightly pinkened bum cheeks.

I hear the pop of a cap; he'd brought lube out here with us. I shake my head. Cas is never too miserable to think about sex.

"I don't think so, Baby. I'm going to take you right here _then_ we can go to sleep."

It's pure bliss when Cas takes me like this. I love consuming, impulsive, up against a wall sex and he knows it. I close my eyes; I just want to feel his thrusts and hands, hear his moans and the slap of his balls against my skin. He grabs the hair at the back of my head; his arm firm around my waist as I bend my knees enough to accommodate the position. If the baby wasn't sleeping ten feet away, I'd beg him to slap my pink bottom.

~SDC~

When we return to Dean, we're both too tired for anymore talking. And we conk out as dead to the world as our baby son. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'Fiddle on a Corn Stalk' is not something I wrote. I don't know who did, but I learned it from the Sharon, Lois and Bram show where it's sung by Eric Naggler. Just wanted to clarify that.


	14. Return to the Playground

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Winchester's decide to go back to the moddler playgroup. Who knew there'd be so many fireworks?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Something in this chapter was inspired by SamsteilGirl. Thank-you for the great idea. When I read it in your comment, I loved it.

I'm startled awake, when a twenty-five pound body hurls itself at me. "Dah-dee!"  
"It's far too early in the morning to be a monster, Dean Daniel."

I think he's becoming immune to my scolding. He just giggles. Cas is gone. "Where'd Papa go?"

Dean shrugs. "Guh-on?"

"I'm right here," Cas says coming back in the door. "And look what I've got."  
Papa's the hero again, holding up beddy-bye blanket. "I got up extra early, so I could dry this for Dean."

Dean squeals and grabs the blanket when Cas gives it to him, he snuggles it to his face. "Can you say thank-you to Papa, Dean?"  
Dean tilts his head and looks at me funny. It's been a long time since I reminded him of manners. He gives it his best shot, but only the 'you' is audible.

It's more than good enough for Cas and I. "You're welcome, Kiddo."  
"And Daddy hates to rain on Dean's parade, but we know where that goes, right?"  
"Mine," Dean says scowling.

I know. I'm the meanest Daddy in the world right now and he makes it harder with that ridiculously cute, pouty little face, but I've got to remind him that having beddy-bye blanket is only for crib-time. If that blanket had got lost, we'd be in serious trouble right now.

I'd better work on distraction. "You know what we're going to do today Dean?"  
He tilts his head to the side still clutching beddy-bye blanket; he's curious. "Why don't you tell him Papa?"

"We're going to go back to the play group! Exciting, huh? We'll see Dean's friends."  
Dean nods, clearly not wanting to ruin Papa's excitement, but I'm not sure if he wants to go back. Is he apprehensive because he got hurt last time? I pretend not to notice and ruffle his hair, since he doesn't look scared.  
"Well let's get this morning on the road. Dean and Daddy will teach Papa all about morning routine. Sound good Dean Bean?"  
"Yeah."

~SDC~

I don't know how I feel about this whole stroller thing. Yesterday, I was asleep when Papa'd first put me in it and when I'd woke up, I was just interested in pants and getting home.

Today is different.

But I'm sitting like a 'good boy' regardless of how I feel. I've got the two of'em against me today.

Yeah. They've been conspiring against me all fucking morning. Daddy has been careful to use "Papa and I," at the beginning of every sentence, while Papa practices using his firm, but not too scary voice and when I try to look to Daddy for help when I don't like what Papa says, Daddy's only response is: "You listen to your Papa Dean."

It means I didn't get blanket and I'm going to this play group I'm not sure I like all that much in the first place. I hope to Christ that chick isn't there. It was a lot easier to leave mistakes behind when I was on the road.

But back to complaining about the dynamic Daddy duo. Even when I tried to do my usual food smashing—what Daddy lets me do every morning because he's usually otherwise preoccupied—they totally ganged up on me and took the food out of my reach, saying one of them would feed me today since I didn't want to 'eat nice.'

Okay. Okay. I get it.

The Daddies have formed a united front against Dean-mon baby, or whatever stupid nickname Papa keeps calling me since yesterday.

So, I don't k now if I like my stroller, but I busy myself kicking and babbling, trying to never come to a decision on that topic if I can help it.  
Besides. I like to practice talking even if it's with a soother in my mouth. There's been talk of a visit to Daddy's family and I want to impress—it sounds like Daddy's family is huge and with more children than the Duggers.

We parked Baby by the coffee shop and walked the rest of the way to the playground. It's a warm day and I'm wearing shorts, sandals and a cool tank-top. The chicks'll be able to see my pipes; soon as I break it off with Brit, or maybe those twin dudes'll be there. Either way, I'm dressed to do some serious heartbreaking damage.

"Cassy, can you reach into the diaper bag and grab Dean's sun hat? It's a bit too hot, I don't want him getting sunstroke."

Oh hell's no Daddy! I am not wearing that sun hat. I wore it yesterday with Papa because no one there knew me, but people at the playground do. I have a reputation. "You've been there one time Dean Winchester, it's not enough to have a 'rep' yet—yeah I know that face," he says as he puts the dumb, sun hat on my head and secures the elastic under my chin.

"I'm sure all the other kids will be wearing hats too."

This hat makes me look like my face is the center of a fucking flower. I use my improved dexterity to rip it off my head as soon as Daddy and Papa are engaged in conversation again and I toss it off the side of the stroller. Sayonara hat!

Nice. Dean Winchester strikes again. Well, for five minutes anyway, which is how long it takes for Daddy to notice I'm sans hat. "Dean, where's your—"

Daddy stops pushing the stroller as I look up with a famous, "uh-oh." Papa runs back a ways and yells out to Daddy when he's found it.

Rats.

Papa puts it back on this time. "On, Dean."

"No. Off." I take it off. Fuck that hat.

"Lordy bee, Dean." That's Daddy, of course—only Daddy says things like that. Least he doesn't put the hat back on.

"There's going to be hotties there Daddy," Papa tells him.

Least Papa knows.

"There's also the big bad hot sun," Daddy complains, but he leaves the hat in the diaper bag.

I can see before we're there: The playground's pumping today. I'm raring to go. Okay, maybe I do want to play with the kids…  
But when we get to where the group of parents are, and I see that Papa's suddenly very interested in meeting everyone, I decide it's better I stay with my daddies—I think there might be fireworks. Besides, I know it's no coincidence that we've had to wait until Papa could come to return to the playgroup.

Daddy introduces the ones he knows. The people that weren't here last time introduce themselves, but unfortunately, Eric's daddy is a little too enthusiastic when he greets Daddy. No. Allow me to rephrase that: Eric's extremely hunky actor daddy grabs my daddy like they're best friends in one of those hugs where he's lifting daddy off the ground and he kisses him on the lips (must be a European thing or something).

Now I don't know the ABC's of Daddy and Papa's relationship—whatever they do is their business and not mine and I've been assured by Daddy lots that it's, all stuff they've worked out and agreed on—but I do know that Papa is _not_ going to be okay with what just happened.

It's no secret to me that Papa doesn't like people looking at Daddy a certain way, never mind _touching_ him. I wonder if Papa's going to kill Eric's daddy?

And no one is more aware of this than Daddy; his demeanor changes completely since the man, whom Daddy extended his hand out to for a simple handshake, grabbed him like a long lost pal. Daddy backs out of the hug like Eric's daddy has the plague, but it's too late; it's happened.

Daddy looks nervous.

And Papa is seriously tense. He's trying not to be, but he is; I can feel his ever-tightening grip on me. He's probably trying to reason with himself that Eric's daddy is married to the nice doctor lady and Eric's Daddy doesn't want Daddy… It's not working though.

I know what I gotta do. I've got to work my Dean magic.

"Owwwie," I say rubbing my head. I think 'owwwie' will lead to talking about doctors and doctor means Eric's mama, maybe talking about her will calm Papa.

But the idiot decides to touch me too, mussing my hair, not a good idea right now. Papa's protective of me too especially since smucking my head. "Heya Dean-o! How's the head?"

I even sense I should look to Papa to see if it's okay to answer him. I look at his eyes: It's not, okay that is; he wants to kill Eric's daddy. I cuddle into Papa's neck instead. "He's okay now," Papa says in his gravely voice which is a whole lot more gravely. "You must be Lou," Papa says.

While they make small talk, I look back up, so I can see the playground—it's ripe with game; but I look into Papa's dark eyes realizing I've got to stay here at all costs: probably the only reason he hasn't punched this man is because he's holding me. But Daddy ruins my plan.

"Here, Cassy. Let me refresh the sunscreen on the baby's face, since he refuses to wear a hat."

Of course Eric's daddy has a helpful anecdote. "Our Eric's the same way—they have to dress to impress. We got Eric an Eric approved hat." He points to Eric on the playground who's sporting a much cooler ball-cap.

No one else seems to pick up on the tension between my daddies. I imagine they're pretty good at not letting on by now; only those who know them would pick up on the tiny details giving them away.

Papa reluctantly lets me go and I wonder if Daddy's crazy, but Daddy's had a lot of experience dealing with Papa, so I decide to follow his lead, least 'till I can get my bearings.

He takes me over to the shade and away from all the parents, but most important: Away from Papa and Eric's daddy.

"You sure you don't want to wear your hat?"

Oh no, you're not distracting me this time Daddy. I cross my little baby arms.

"All right. Dean Winchester stubbornness wins again. You're like your Papa, you are."

He puts some of that 'baby-safe-sun-shit' on his hands and I cringe—I hate that stuff only slightly less than I hate that hat.

"Ick!"

"It's this or the hat, Mister. Choose."

I point to the sunscreen and look over at Papa as he begins massaging it into my face. "You don't need to worry about Daddy and Papa, Pumpkin Butter. Papa and I have been at this a long time. I know how to handle him. You just go fill your dance card and worry about little boy things."

I get what Daddy's saying, but I come from a long line of mistrust I learned, and still remember from my biological father, John. I don't think Daddy should be so calm about this and look again to Papa to see what he thinks.

Papa is pretending to make friends with Eric's daddy (I can tell from his body language) and Eric's daddy is none the wiser.

That means he doesn't trust Eric's daddy either and if he doesn't, neither do I. Maybe I should stick around… just for a bit.

"Okay baby boy, off you go."

"Uh!" I use my caveman skills to point to the diaper bag—I'm sure there's something in there I 'need.'

Daddy is totally onto me, but he won't deny me basic needs if I ask for them. He does roll his eyes.

"What'cha want, Dean Bean?"

I give my best shot at saying 'crackers,' but it sounds more like 'cackwers.'

I know I'm supposed to 'stay and eat crackers with Papa or Daddy.' So I plant my little ass down, moving up to the sunshine where I can see everything. "I appreciate you caring, but you're being silly, Dean."

Damn right I care.

I keep both eyes on Papa and Eric's daddy, they look like best friends by this point and also like they are only focused on the 'awesome' conversation they're having, but I know Papa can still sight where Daddy and I are down to the penny.

Daddy runs a hand through my hair thinking I'm his cute little bodyguard—though I'm pretty sure we already have real ones, around here somewhere—and he crouches down to kiss my crown.

And since my cracker is done, I think a juice box sounds good about now…

~SDC~

"What's with him?" Cas asks when he's finally done staking claim to his mama bear and cub.

"He's gone into full on Hunter mode. He keeps asking for crackers and juice, refusing to go play. I've changed his diaper twice in sixty minutes by his request."

Cas laughs. "All right, Papa's here to protect Daddy now, you can go play, Kiddo."

Parents have come up to me to chat and try making small talk, Dean's found a way to chase them all away. I think he's taking Cas' lead; it's actually pretty darn cute, only he thinks he needs to keep _everyone_ away from me, not realizing that there's currently only one person Cas suspects of 'trying to get into my pants.'

Now I've got two protective boys.

Unfortunately, the combination of full-cracker-and-juice-belly and the sun (because he will not move from that spot) is making him tired; he's been rubbing his eyes, signaling an early nap. The last thing any parent wants is an over tired baby, but I don't want to put him down just yet, since he hasn't played at all.

I decide to take a chance. I know we are amidst a 'situation,' and it's a new one. I'm still getting used to working with Cas' over protective, possessive temperament and with Dean. Dean adds a new element we're not used to.

"Actually, Papa, I'm going to take Dean on the slide with all the kids. Won't that be fun Dean Bean?"

"Samuel…"

"Or you can take him," I whisper. The parents are off either dealing with their own kids, or talking with the other parents, we already look a bit strange alone as we are and I'm aiming to not draw attention our way. Thankfully many of the parents who have come to the Moddler Group are different ones than last time. "And I can stay here and chat with the other parents."

He glances over to see Dean rubbing his eyes too, and he knows why I'm boiling it down to these two options. He's not sure what to do either and we both feel the same: In a bind to do what's right for Dean, even if it's not necessarily what's right for us. He runs a frustrated hand through his hair. "Just… Go."

It's a disaster anyway. Dean's already cranky and now he's pissed at me for taking him on the slide, since he's picked up on Papa's desire to build a stone house around me and bar me from all human contact forever; he didn't want to leave our 'spot.' His little girlfriend's not even here today. It's pretty much just Lou's boy, Eric, the twins and the little brunette girls from last time. There are plenty of other kids around, but Dean's just not interested. I want to get him interested and get back to Cas, but if I need to stay with Dean today, I will.

"C'mon Dean—this was supposed to be fun for you to meet other kids your own age and like you." I'm desperately trying to salvage something from this trip. Especially since Cas and I are going to fight when we get home—but how is that even possible? You might ask… Especially since most of our disagreements end with me saying "yes, Cas," or "yes, Cassy." Well you're about to see.

For now, I'm thinking of what to do to liven my surly baby and I'm so involved with thinking about the Castastrophe, I don't see the little boy who's been staring at us, more specifically, who's been staring at Dean.

He's all by himself, but he bleeds confidence and he's dressed seriously cool. I think Dean will like this kid, plus he's definitely older—the oldest one here, which is probably why he's not hanging out with the other kids. I'll bet I could get him to play with Dean for a little bit.

"Hi there, what's your name?"  
He takes that as an invitation, jumps down and saunters over to us. "I'm Michael."

"How old are you Michael?"  
"Eight."  
He flicks his head at Dean. "What's his name?"  
Dean presses his eyebrows together not liking the kid asking me for his name instead of him. I know it makes him feel… well, a year and a half old. "Dean," Deans answers for himself thank you very much.

Michael nods.

"I know you're a lot bigger than Dean, but would you mind playing with him, just for a little bit? His Papa and I are going to take him home soon."

Dean scowls at me for basically finding him a babysitter. "Dah-dee!"

I'm ruining Dean's rep again—honestly, Dean's the only eighteen-month-old with a 'rep.'  
"I'm Sam Winchester."  
Another nod from the kid. Michael. He's quiet, but he doesn't seem shy.

And the good news, Dean is suddenly interested in the kid and is finally distracted from the happening with his Papa and me. Probably prefers to hang out with the 'big kid' rather than babies.

"Guh-on, Dah-dee," Dean says and I know that's the equivalent of 'go away.'  
"Dean Winchester…"  
"Bye, Dah-dee."  
Don't let the door hit me on the way out he means. I shake my head, but move off to the side where Cas is standing talking to Lisa.

"Dean found a friend," I say putting my arm around my husband's chest from behind. Some of the tension I saw in him when I walked up melts away; he turns his head to kiss me. He's still pissed. I know he's kept his two eyes on Dean and I, while holding conversation with the other parents.

"We're leaving soon."  
I nod into his neck.

~SDC~

The kid is quiet, like _really_ fucking quiet and I don't want to say anything either. He's a _big_ kid. I know where I rank on the totem pole, 'cause I'm so little. It's cool he's even letting me hang with him. He's also tall and he looks really strong… for eight. I'm doing my best not to stare at him in awe.

But naturally, after standing still for so long (it's been at least thirty seconds) I've got to do something else. I decide to make a run for it

But the big kid is quick; he grabs my arm. "I don't think so, kid. You're staying right here. Play with the rocks or something. Sit."  
Play in the rocks? Normally that would be fun, but I don't want to do it, because he's being such a douchebag. "No!"

"Sit down." He pushes down on my shoulders and it's easy for him to get my body to sit. I'm on my diapered ass now in the rocks, glaring up at him. I should throw some rocks at him, but he's bigger than me—a lot bigger. And normally I'd say my line about having fought all kinds of supernatural creatures, but as long as he's looking at me like that, I won't fuck with him.  
"Play," he reminds me.

Didn't he tell my daddy he'd play with me? I point at the rocks, still pissed at him. "Uh!"

I'm surprised as hell when he understands my caveman speak. "I was just being polite when I told your daddy I'd play with you, so my 'daddy' doesn't kick my ass."

His daddy doesn't sound very nice, that's probably where he learned to be such a douchebag from. Whatever. I don't want to talk to him anyway.

I start swishing my hands around in the rocks.

Who cares about getting to hang out with a cool big kid anyway? I keep swishing my hands, moving the rocks all around. I mean, I don't even like him. It's not like we were friends—I just met him.

"Shit. Now you're crying."  
Am not.  
"Fuck. Okay, c'mon. Let's go on the swing or something."  
I wipe my eyes, because maybe I was crying a little. Fine, we'll go to the swings and you can carry me. Bitch. He looks tall enough. I reach my hands up to him.  
He sighs, "Jesus."

It's a bit awkward, but he can do it. I'm pretty little and he's tall. I don't seem heavy for him.

I was right about him being strong; he gets me into the swing with only a little trouble and starts pushing me, silently. It's a good silence. I don’t have to worry about talking because he probably doesn't want me to anyway.

I can watch my parents from here, who I can see always have an eye on me. They're chatting with the other parents.

"You good now?" Michael says out of duty.  
"Yeah," I say annoyed that he interrupted my silence. I want him to keep pushing me though. You're going to think I'm a freak for saying this, but I feel a strange comfort with him just being here, even if he's being a bit of a dillhole. He's not being like Eric was last time though; it's different: He isn't nice, but he's not mean either.

He hasn't made fun of me once. His anger is drawn from somewhere else and though he's taking it out on me, it's mostly because I'm in his vicinity.

"You're kinda cute, I guess—don't let that go to your head. And I'm glad you can't talk. Last time my father dragged me here I had to play some stupid game with these little kids and some girl talked my ear off."

I don't like that he's calling me cute. I know how he means it; that I'm a cutesy wootsey little baby and I guess I am, but that doesn't mean I want to hear it every five seconds.

But I bet I know which girl talked his ear off. "Ick!" I say and I get a half laugh out of him.

"Yeah. Girls are definitely ick, Dean."  
He pushes me for a little while and I can feel my damn eyes starting to close; fuck, I'm falling asleep—guess that means it's almost naptime. I know my minutes are numbered. Daddy can spot a sleepy baby like a hawk to prey.

But Michael's daddy gets there first. "Michael, time to go."  
His daddy is incredible. He's really tall like Daddy, polished looking with angular features, with dark hair like Michael's only his is that tumbly 'I just had sex' kind of look which matches perfect with his 'and I'm about to go have sex again,' eyes. They do look eerily similar, though. Are they biologically related? Is this his real daddy?

"Yeah. I have to give him back first."  
"Excuse me?"  
"Yes, sir. _May_ I please give the kid back to his parents? Your Royal Highness," he says the last part under his breath so only I can hear it—I giggle.

"You have five minutes. I'll meet you at the car."

"Whatever," he mutters.  
"Michael?"  
"I said: Yes, sir." He turns around to give him a fake, cocky smile.

His father glares at him and I don't know how Michael isn't scared of those eyes. "Hurry up."

"Fucking Prick," Michael says once he walks off as he begins trying to wrestle me out of the baby swing. I hope my daddy doesn't hear him swearing, or he won't let me hang out with him anymore.

When he finally gets me out of the swing he tries to plop me down on the ground. _I don't think so; you're still my cab ride bitch._ "No."

"Jesus Christ, you're a demanding little shit. Fine." He picks me up again and I'm totally smug about getting what I want.  
"Mine," I say, hoping to piss him off more than he already is.

"Right. Trust me when I say, you couldn't handle me, kid." At least he's laughing though.  
He awkwardly walks me over to Daddy and Papa. "I have to go Mr. Winchester," Michael says to Daddy, suddenly very polite.

"Thanks for playing with Dean. I think he likes you," Daddy says plucking me out from Michael's arms. "Did he make you carry him?"

Michael runs a hand through his hair then shoves his hands in his pockets. "My father's in a rush to go, it was faster to carry him."

"Well, thank-you young man," Papa says.  
"Sure thing. See ya, Dean," he says ruffling my hair.

"Who was that?" Papa says when he's far enough away.  
"Michael."  
"He's a moddler?"  
"I'm guessing. He looks like it."

"How can you tell?"  
"It's in the eyes," Daddy says. "Well, should we get going? It's time for Dean to have a nap."  
"No," I say as usual, but I fucking yawn and rub my eyes. Daddy rolls his.

"C'mon. I'll bet he doesn't make it home, without falling asleep," he says to Papa, but I know he's teasing me.  
Yeah. We'll see Daddy.

~SDC~

Dean fought sleep during the stroller ride to the car, but finally lost on the car ride home. My Husband is still quiet. I can barely stand it, but it's not a good time to say anything. I wait 'till we're home and I've laid Dean down in the nursery.

"I'm sorry about today, Cassy."

"Sorry? Why should you be sorry? It wasn't your fault."

I know that sounds good, but it's not good. "I'm sure I can find another group, Cas. Better yet, it's probably time we have our friends over, they've been asking after us. Why have we been such hermits…"

Since Dean had constantly been changing and we didn't know when and where it was going to happen, we limited our outings during that time. We also thought it was best Dean meet everyone after he finished changing. He might have felt weird meeting them at nine then having to meet them again as a pre-toddler, or even newborn—we didn't know at the time how old he'd end up.

"He's got friends in this group."  
"They aren't that good friends."  
"We can't let my 'issue' affect Dean," Cas says.  
I don't consider his personality an 'issue,' it's just Cas to me, but I don't fight him on that for the moment; pick your battles. "And we won't. We can take care of this another way and you know it."  
"You didn't break any rules Sam. I'm not spanking you over this."  
It's hardest when I haven't broken a rule. Cas grew up with his mother following rules; his siblings and him followed rules too; that's easy for him to reconcile. "Collar me then. Tonight."  
"No."

"Cas, please. I know it wouldn't be punishment. I understand the difference by now." I try to put my arm around him from behind; he pushes me away.

"Let me be Sam."  
"Oh no you don't Castiel Winchester. You don't let me shut down, I won't let you shut me out."

For the record, I do know how this would go in another relationship. I'm supposed to say, 'He's just a friend. I'm not even his type. Besides, he's married.'

But none of that will matter to Cas; we've been through this too many times already. And besides, I don't know that those statements would be true; at least not all of them. He is indeed married and to me he's just a friend, but he was friendly, even for an Italian man. I'd like to say his kiss was a friendly European one, but I know plenty of Italians, they're not that friendly. He might have a bit of a crush. That Cas hasn't killed him for that alone is progress. He's come a long way.

He snaps up violently, pinning me to the wall. "Fine. You don't want me to shut you out?" He says mockingly, "I'll tell you exactly what's going on in my twisted head, Sam. I want to tie you up in our bedroom and not let you leave it ever again. But since I know I can't do that, my next best option is to tie up your dick with the chastity device whenever you go to that group—hell it reminds me why maybe I should lock it up all together."

A hand grips around my jaw and presses against my throat, tilting my head back into the wall. "I'd like to fuck you in front of him just to show him who you belong to. How about that Sam? Would you like that?"

My penis very much does like the sound of all that, which is completely out of my character, but Cas does something to me—always has and as usual I respond. And as much as I do hate Chastity while I'm in the thing, it's such a turn on to hear him talk about it, especially because it would be 'enforced.'

But this is where our fight begins, oddly not because of the things he wants to do to me, because of his belief, versus mine on the topic. He's going down an old road; one where he believes he's seriously messed up and it's his fault I am too; I believe it's okay for us to like what we like, be who we want.

Cas accepted who he is long ago but only because he can't live without me; he would if he could—he's tried it.

But we haven't come to this place in a long time. Unfortunately, even if Dean's been the best thing to happen to us, it's Dean that's awakened old insecurities.

"You know I would like all of that, Cassy."  
He slams my head against the wall. "Don't be naïve. All of that is abuse. Is that the example you'd like to set for our son?"

"It isn't abuse if I enjoy it; if you enjoy."  
"Get out of my sight."  
"Cassy—"  
"How about if I just get out of yours?"

"Cas!" He's already walking toward the door.  
"No. Damn you! You're not fucking leaving!" Remember when I said there's a place and time for curse words? Now's a pretty good time.

"I'm not leaving. I'm just going to clear my head."

"And feel sorry for yourself."  
"Your disrespectful tone isn't helping, Sam."

This is where I should accuse him of not having respect for me, or being a coward, or even of being an asshole. But it's not like that and it's not our agreement.

I know well our agreement doesn't make Cas right all the time; it also means he's not required to be perfect all the time either. Try telling him that.

"Cassy, please. I'm sorry—I shouldn't speak to you that way, but don't leave. You know what that does to me." When he did leave-leave me before, I've forgiven him, but never forgotten. "I'll stay out of your way, but just answer one thing: You haven't had a problem with our relationship in a long time. Why now?" I'm pretty sure I know, but I want him to say it, out loud.

"Simple. Because of Dean. If he only knew what I do to his beloved Daddy… he'd hate me Sam. I can't live with that."

"So we what? Go back to square one? I thought you'd accepted who you are."  
"I had, but that was before Dean. He won't understand. You saw how protective he was over you today."

"He was intimating his Papa, Cas. His hero. He wanted to help Papa protect Daddy. He agrees with you."

"But what about the other stuff?"  
"With our sex life? That's our business. It's always been just our business."

"He knows we aren't 'normal.' I'm sure of it—he's a smart boy even if he's only one and a half."  
"He knows we're different; he's too little to know what 'normal' is. I explain what I think he'll understand."  
"He remembers his life before Sam."

"I know he does, but he's still learning again, from the eyes of a child. He'll learn that his Daddy and Papa have a special relationship that's sacred to the two of us. In fact, I think you should show him a little more of that side; be more like you were before he came here. I know you've been holding back."

"Bend you over wherever I like? Take you any time I please?"  
"Obviously, not. I mean with discipline. You did once."

"When he was out of it."  
"And I was okay with it. You holding back all the time isn't helping and it's going to get worse." In other words, he might start thinking we'd be better off without him. We're a long way from that at the moment, and I intend to keep it that way.  
"But… Dean…"  
"He will be fine. I'm not ashamed of us. Besides, he's too little to have a sit down where we explain ourselves. He can learn by seeing and when questions come up we can answer them truthfully."

He's almost convinced. "I know your Daddy didn't hide the fact that he disciplines your mama. Why should it be any different with us?"

"He never spanked Mother in front of us."  
"Nor am I suggesting you spank me in front of Dean."

He's quiet for a long while as he thinks. "He wants you, Sam. He might have a wife, but he still wants you."

Cas switching back to the topic of Lou is promising; he's not going to leave. "I know, Cassy," I say as I chance stepping closer to him. "He can't have me though; I know who owns my ass."  
"Since when do you swear so much?"  
"You're not leaving me again, Cas. Or I'll be the one chaining you to the bed," I say instead of answering him. He knows why I'm using such strong language.  
"Don't be so dramatic, I wasn't leaving you."

"Darn right you're not."  
"You're so good with me, Baby." He's more relaxed now.  
"And you're good with us. I need you to be you, okay? No more doubts."

He nods and finally reaches out to touch me, running a hand through my hair. "You have a handprint on your jaw."  
"I know, Cassy. I can feel it. I love your handprint there and anywhere you want to put it. I love being yours."

"I love that little boy so, much; I don't want to let him down—or you."

"You won't let him down, I won't let you. And the only way you let me down is not living up to your end of our agreement."

"Touché, Baby." He smiles.

I can tell we're going to move past this and I'm so grateful I just want to sink into his arms. He knows; he pulls me to him. "I won't take Dean to that group anymore. Or we'll find another group."  
"Excuse me. I believe I'm the top in this relationship. I'll decide whether you will, or won't go to the play group."

And jeez Louise, if that doesn't make my dick hard.

"I do so love putting you in chastity. In fact, I know just how to reconcile this for us."

~SDC~

I've said it many times, but I'll say it again; I'm the luckiest man in the world. Sam kisses my cheek as he puts our son in his highchair. "What'cha thinking about Cassy?"

"You."  
"Me? But I'm right here, aren't I Dean?"  
Dean giggles. "Yeah."

He noticed yesterday, as soon as Sam took him out of his crib after his nap. He saw the handprint on his Daddy's jaw, whether he knows what it is or not, we're not sure. "Owie?" He said to his daddy.

"Not an owie, baby boy. That's a love bite from Papa," Sam told him. I held my breath; Dean smiled at me.

And that was it. As always, Sam is right.

I was rough on Sam last night; he's moving a bit gingerly; I'm worried about that too—of what Dean would think if he saw just how many 'love bites' I gave to Daddy last night, but I try not to. Besides, both of us had a lot of fun making those 'love bites.'

Like Sam said, it's who we are, but it's more than that, it's what we choose.  
"Papa loves your daddy more than breathing little boy and I love you the same amount."

"Okay Papa. Our Dean Bean is hungry. How about you feed him his porridge? It's a bit messy for babies."

Sam knows I'm being maudlin. But I'm over it, mostly. I was actually considering sending Lou a thank-you note. The sex Sam and I had last night was epic. He keeps looking over and smiling at me and I know he's thinking about some of those things…

"Ick!" Dean says.  
"Oh, yeah. He's not too thrilled about porridge, but I'm trying to diversify his breakfast palate. Besides, with Andrew away, I can't make gourmet everyday."

Our personal chef left last night on holiday and rather than hire a replacement, Sam said he'd like to take over. Sam's an excellent cook, but I was a little hesitant about the idea. I don't want him to think he's got to take over the house duties just because he's decided to stay home with Dean. But since it's only for a week, I agreed to it.

"Well I'll do lunch since you made breakfast," I say.

"Don't worry about it Cassy. I don't mind."

"I do."

"Don't be silly, Cas. Why don't you take Dean outside after breakfast? It's my pleasure to look after the two of you."

"You know what I think Dean?" I say bringing the spoon to his mouth. "I think Daddy isn't being a good listener and needs a spanking." Sam wants to be more open in front of Dean, about our special relationship, so I try that.

Dean giggles and I take the opportunity to put porridge in his mouth; he pushes it back out with his tongue. "Ick."

Sam comes over to sit with us, unconcerned about what I said in front of Dean. "Okay Cassy. I hear you."

In fact, I think he did that on purpose. Maybe I should spank him anyway. "How about a little maple syrup, kiddo?" I get up to grab some from the fridge as Sam tries to coax him again. "C'mon Dean Bean, eat your porridge for Daddy."

"No."  
I save the day with the syrup. "There. Sugar. You like sugar, Dean," I tell him and laugh at myself. I've seen Sam do that a ton with little ones and I always thought it was funny listening to Sam tell his cousins what they liked. And here I am doing it.  
Sam gives him another bite laden with syrup.  
"Mmmhmm…" says Dean.  
"Sugar Monster," says Sam.

So as Sam enjoys his coffee and Dean his sugary porridge, I'm able to enjoy my gorgeous family who accept me just as I am.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm setting up the plot with "Michael" for the next story. You won't see too much of him this story. 
> 
> And I feel I need to explain something. You may feel Cas almost had less of a reaction to something more severe in regards to Sam in this chapter; I certainly did. But when I tried to write a harsher consequence, it didn't feel right and I figured out that it's very different for Cas when it's beyond Sam's control. However, there will still be a consequence, something more fitting I thought (hence SamsteilGirl's suggestion--we'll have some fun with that). 
> 
> He did however leave some delicious love bites and they did have a milder play session. ;-) Sorry I didn't write it for you, maybe that can be an outtake.


	15. The Winchester's are Coming.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happens when Daddy gets hurt and Papa has to work and no one can look after Dean? Don't worry, the Winchester's are coming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First, thanks again for all the lovely comments. I know I say that every chapter, but I'm so, SO grateful to all y'all! 
> 
> Second, I've only had time to go over this twice and now I'm leaving to go away for a day, so I'm really sorry for the mistakes I'm sure are there. When I get home Sunday I'll do another edit, but I wanted to leave you something to read! Enjoy!

Papa stayed home for lots of days and then he decides just to up and leave for work like usual. Well I'm not okay with that. "Papa, no guh-on." That's my first sentence motherfuckers.

Daddy smiles like a loon at Papa and Papa's shocked. He plucks me outta my highchair. "You don't want Papa to go?"

I shake my head and grab onto his trench coat. "Papa's got to work, Baby boy. I'll be home in time for dinner."

"No."  
Daddy starts laughing. "Well, you wanted to bond with him, you got it."  
"Thanks for the help, Daddy," he says unimpressed, since he knows I'm going to cry if he even tries to leave. It's one of the few powers I have, I'm damn well using it. "Maybe I should take the baby to work?"  
"Don't say things like that, if you're not going to do them Cas," Daddy scolds.  
"I do mean it."  
"You're going to work with a baby in your office?"  
"Of course not. You can come with me and look after him." Papa smiles slyly at Daddy.

Daddy comes over to pry me away from Papa. "Say goodbye to your crazy Papa Dean. We've got things to do."  
I don't want to leave Papa though. I complain by way of mumbley, whiney words, but I decide not to waste my tears. I can tell I'm not going to get my way since it's work Papa's leaving for. "Awww, look at him Sam."

"He'll be okay once you leave. Won't you baby boy?" Daddy says bouncing me on his hip.  
I sniffle and nod sadly into his shirt. Least Daddy's not going. If _he_ tried to leave I would cry bloody murder. After spending an entire day without him, no way am I doing that again.

Papa kisses my head, then Daddy on the lips. "Love you both."

"Love you too, Cassy."

I give Papa a pouty look and sniffle wiping a couple tears away. Stupid baby emotions. I'm trying really hard not to cry. Why should I be so upset? Daddy's smiling at me; probably thinks I'm cute for missing Papa. Papa looks beside himself. "Are you sure, Baby?"

"Really. He'll be fine Cassy. Babies do this. It really is good though, you two have bonded."

Papa cards fingers through my hair. "Be a good boy for your daddy, kiddo."

I nod sadly at him. Least I have Daddy; I clutch onto him tighter. "Besides, you're gonna have Papa all to yourself Wednesday night—it's Daddy's night to hang out with his college friends."

Wait. What?

"And from that look, I'd say you're going to get to experience what I am right now, Samuel. I'll have just as much sympathy for you."

"Don't be mad Cassy. I think it's adorable is all. I love seeing how much Dean loves his Papa."

That was so five minutes ago Daddy. Tell me more about your night out and why Dean wasn't notified. "No guh-on, Dah-dee."

Now Papa's laughing. "See you boys later."

When Papa's gone, Daddy puts me on the floor. "I'm not leaving now baby boy. Daddy's going to clean up this mess—why don't you play for a bit?"

I'll play, but I'm not taking my eyes off him. I decide to get out some toys and I'm playing happily for some time when I see something scurry past the kitchen island in my periphery. I know what it is and if Daddy sees it, he'll freak.

This time, it's a real, legit spider. All the other times when Daddy asked me to 'hunt spiders,' that was just pretend. Of course, I believed him, but I've never found a spider. This one is here and if Daddy sees it, he'll think I'm too little to hunt real spiders and probably snatch me up and run screaming out of the house.

Unfortunately I need his help to acquire my spider fighting weapon. "I have a very quiet baby. What are you up to Dean Winchester?"

I try to tell him what I want, but 'broom' is fucking hard to say. Thank Christ Daddy knows babyese. "You want to sweep for Daddy?" He teases.  
"No."  
"I know. I know. You want to protect me from the spiders. Okay sweetheart. I'll get your broom for you."

I have one eye on the little bastard—I can see his legs.

"Where's the spider baby?"  
I point to underneath the table; Daddy's not really looking; he probably thinks I'm just pretending. Daddy goes back to what he was doing and I go over to the table and pretend to look there, but then I scout out the spider's real local.

I see him. He's real fugly looking. I get the feeling he knows I'm onto him. With my weapon poised, I make my way over to him and smash it down, but miss because my aim fucking sucks.

The Asshole spider makes a run for it and he's heading straight for Daddy—fuck!

I chase after him like my life depends on it because he _can't_ get Daddy, which is the reason I fall on my face. All of this is unexpected to Daddy who was turning around at the time of my fall; he tries to jump out of the way so he doesn't crush me, but he loses his balance and knocks all his weight, hard, into the marble counter top.

"Fudge! Fiddlesticks!"

Crap. I hurt Daddy.

My face forms a pout. "Oh… Baby boy… Daddy's going to be okay—don't cry sweetheart," he says between breaths.

Too late.

I cry and drop my broom; the fugly spider gets away.

Shane, probably hearing all the commotion, runs into the kitchen. Daddy's bent over in pain; I'm screaming. "Sir?"

"I'm okay, Shane," Daddy says with a tense face. "Call a driver for me please?"

"Certainly Mr. Winchester."

Daddy gingerly makes his way over to me, but from the way he's breathing he's having trouble; still it's a practiced breathing, like he knows how to breathe through pain—I would know. I've dealt with my fair share in my first life.

"C'mon Pumpkin Butter—don't cry. Daddy needs your help getting to the hospital. We'll call Papa from the car, okay? I'm sure he hasn't got too far."

I sniffle and put my hand up. I want him to pick me up, but I know I shouldn't ask right now. He takes my hand. I have to be brave though because I've got a job to do now: Get Daddy to the hospital.

Shane helps put me in the car seat; puts my diaper bag in the car and while we drive, Daddy calls Papa.

"No Cassy, you don't need to… yes… I'm okay, really I was just letting you… uh-huh. I'm sure it's just a broken rib."

Then there's silence for a couple minutes and by the look on Daddy's face, I'm sure Papa's reaming him out. Daddy's foolishly persistent. "You don't have to turn around, Cas. I know you've got that meeting… It's a twenty million dollar account!"

More silence.

Then Daddy sighs. "See you there, Cassy."

Nice try Daddy. If you were trying to talk Papa out of not continuing on to work, I suggest trying to teach a pig to fly. You'd have an easier time.

Daddy wipes my tears with his thumb. "Oh Sweetheart, I think looking at that face hurts more than my rib. Daddy's going to be fine. It was an accident."

Yeah. Because of that douchebag spider. Wait 'till I get home. This is war.

Since Papa was ahead of us, he beats us to the hospital and he's waiting with a wheelchair for Daddy. The look on his face is seriously distressed. He tires to hide his distress when he sees mine.

"Awww, Kiddo. Daddy's going to be okay," Papa says.  
Everyone keeps saying that, but I'm not convinced.

We help Daddy into the wheelchair and I get to sit on his lap. I can tell Daddy thinks he doesn't need the wheelchair, but I'm worried and agree with Papa, so Daddy can just suck it up.

It takes forever to see the doctor, but I take good care of Daddy, patting his cheek and sitting relatively still, so I don't disturb his injury.

"Uh-oh, Dah-dee?"

"Yeah. Uh-oh, Sweetheart."

"Owie?"

"Yeah. Daddy has an owie, but I'm okay."  
I have to go through this sequence of questions a few times before I'm satisfied.

After that it's x-rays and the doctor confirming Daddy's broken ribs—that's right, ribs plural. Two are broken. From a flipping counter top? Maybe Daddy's bones need more nutrition, like he's always telling me. _'Eat your food Dean Bean. It will make your bones big and strong…'_

We were there so long, I started to get tired and hungry, but I was too concerned for Daddy to sleep and eat. But Papa remembered to feed me something and took me down to the cafeteria for a snack while Daddy waited for his x-rays.

When we finally return home; it's way past my naptime. Papa doesn't want to leave Daddy with a baby, but he's already had a whole week away from work (aside from the odd phone call) and he has to get back.

"I want you to stay on the couch, Sam."  
"What about Dean?"  
"Maybe I really will have to take him to work…" Papa's got me on his hip. I try to squirm down to get to Daddy, so I can take care of him, but he won't let me.  
"Don't be ridiculous, Cas," Daddy practically snaps at him.  
Hmmm… Daddy's a bit grouchy when he's hurt. "I've already warned you once on the phone not to argue with me, Samuel."  
Uh-oh. Daddy looks like he's in trouble. "Sorry, Cas."

They're both frustrated. Papa let's out a heavy exhale.

Daddy's not offering any suggestions.

"I'll take him with me to work."  
I know Daddy's not going to object to that now, but I do. "Nooo!" I throw a fit. I start screaming and clawing my way down Papa in effort to get to Daddy. I'm staying home to take care of him.

I'm making such a ruckus; Papa has no choice but to let me down. I run to Daddy, who's on the couch and climb my way up with only a little help from him. Papa's not thrilled about that.

"Fuck it. I'll call Becky then. She's got Desi, but maybe she won't mind bringing her over."  
When Daddy still says nothing I look at him wide-eyed—Papa said a swear word and Daddy didn't even scold him.  
"Be right back—Dean you be a good boy."

Why wouldn't I? I know I'm not an angel, but Daddy's hurt, of course I'd take care of him. I'm a bit insulted and glare at Papa.

When Papa's gone, Daddy says, "come here Dean Bean."

I'm already on the couch with him, but I snuggle closer careful of his broken, taped up ribs. The broken ones are on the side furthest away from me. "I'm okay Pumpkin Butter. Your Papa just worries about me—maybe too much sometimes. I'm sure you'd take good care of me."

Least he can tell I'm a bit disgruntled at Papa's lack of faith in me. When Papa returns, he informs us that Becky will be over with Desi within the hour and reminds me to be good. He's got to go, but he really doesn't want to. I yawn and make myself comfortable. I plan on resting my eyes for a bit while I watch out for Daddy.

"I think I have a sleepy baby here anyway, Cas," Daddy finally speaks.

"Good. That's good. I'll call you soon as I can Baby."

~SDC~

So Cas gets just a tad unreasonable when I'm hurt. For instance, I would have been fine alone and if I'd really needed something, I could've asked Shane, but that wouldn't be good enough in his books. He wants someone specifically devoted to me and Shane has many other duties.

Becky is a sweet though and her daughter is Dean's age. It will be interesting to note the differences in a moddler and non-moddler. And Becky is one of our 'other kinds' of friends. Not one from the scene, one from an entirely different group. Becky and her husband have a domestic discipline relationship. I would say like Cas and me, but I don't think anyone is quite like Cas and me.

But Becky and her husband are similar to us. And she's the 'top.' That means she makes the rules for her and her husband. She's not quite as 'toppy' as my husband, but she understands our dynamic; at least in some aspects.

Dean's currently passed out curled into me. It's been an exhausting morning for the poor little guy. He's adorable with his sweet-surly face in a pout and his soft curls messy around his face. I could stare at him forever. It's not often I get to have him sleep like this on me.

With an arm around Dean, I decide to close my eyes too.

There's a gentle hand nudging me awake sometime later. "Sam?"

"Hi Becky," I say quietly. Shane must have let her in. Dean's still sound asleep. Becky's got Desi in her arms; she's smiling at me.

"Hectic morning?"

"You could say that."

"I'll get a late lunch started for us. Just rest with your baby. He's real cute by the way."

"He is, thank-you. Just don't let him hear you say that."

Sometime while she's preparing food, Dean stirs; he's probably not slept enough, which means he'll probably be clingy and cranky.

"Dah-dee?" He says looking around not used to waking up on the couch.

"Did you fall asleep on the couch Dean Bean?"

He nods his little head. "Yeah."

I decide that even though Becky will probably scold me, and if Cas were here he'd have a fit, to pick Dean up and take him into the kitchen. It's painful, but I know pain and can breathe through it, despite my more shallow breathing with the broken ribs and all.

Dean's on my 'good' side; it's not too bad, but it's difficult.

We enter the kitchen and Becky has Desi in Dean's highchair. Dean doesn't like that. "Mine," he says.

Becky laughs. "We know sweetie, Desi's just going to borrow it for a bit. Sam, you shouldn't be carrying him."

She's just doubly pissed my son off; he glares at her good while latching onto me a little tighter. In other words: 'I'm not leaving my daddy lady.'

"He'll scream if you take him, Beck."  
She nods. "I'm not going to mess with that face. Let's at least get you sitting down."

Dean sits on my lap staring at Desi in his highchair and Becky serves us. Desi's looking at us too, but there's something missing from her stare; it's the aged quality Dean has, the one I always say moddlers have. It's easy to see she isn't one.

But as lunch goes on, I learn her speech is slightly better. She can say more words; more than likely because she's had more time to teach her body the skill. Modlenol's a funny thing with the way it works; it regresses the person to a point and kind of 'robs' them of a skill. They then have to re-learn whatever they've lost from that point in time.

Dean's lost his speech for the most part and he should have had a year and a half to teach his facial muscles to say the words, but he hasn't had that time. Conversely, because Modlenol can't ultimately erase your memory (though it can make memories hazy) he's got a bit of an edge in that he understands all words and how they're used. In other words, it seems the Modlenol has a greater effect physically—though it's definitely affected him mentally and emotionally.

It's clear Desi understands words, but not in the same way Dean does. I doubt I could have the same kinds of conversations with Desi that I can with Dean.

Despite his displeasure, Dean eats. Dean always eats. Even when he doesn't like something we can usually find a way to get him to eat.

When they're done, Becky hands me a cloth, so I can clean up my messy baby; she gets Desi cleaned up and takes her out of Dean's highchair.

She looks a little hesitant to leave Mama, but she's more interested in Dean. Dean, on the other hand, has the same amount of interest in her a dog does in a flea; he's going to deal with her because he has to, but otherwise he wishes she'd just go away.

"Why don't you go down and play, Pumpkin?"

He clearly doesn't want to leave his 'daddy post,' thinking he's got to take care of me since Papa's not here.

"Go on baby boy. Daddy's fine." Though I wouldn't turn away an Advil. I'm really not into using pharmaceuticals, but like swearing, there's a time and a place.

Dean climbs down apprehensively, all the while staring at Desi. He looks at me again. I nod and smile encouragement. He walks right up to her and says, "Dean," by way of introduction, which points out another difference between a moddler and a non-moddler.

Making introductions? Not something an eighteen month old grasps the concept of. Becky has to prompt her. "What's your name sweetie?"

"Des," she says, still looking at her mama. Dean is annoyed. He's only used to other moddler children at this point. He gives me a look that says, 'really, Daddy?'

I can't help laughing at him.

"Let's take the babes to the living room, you should be propped up on the couch, Sam."

"Yes, ma'am," I say cheekily.

"C'mon, you know Cas'll kill me if I let you do too much. I've never heard him like he was on the phone with me earlier; he's worried about you."  
Yeah. She doesn't have to tell me about it. I know well how over protective my husband is…

~SDC~

Seriously. What the fuck am I supposed to do with a baby? And I know that's rich coming from me, but she's a _real_ baby.

Her mama sets us up with _my_ toy box and right away her grubby hands grab my Baby replica. "Mine," I say snatching it away. Her face morphs into cry face; she looks to her mommy, points at me and starts crying.

"Dean," Daddy warns. "You share your toys with Desi."

Fuck sharing. "Mine."

"Dean."

"Actually Sam—she'll put that in her mouth and it's got little parts. She probably shouldn't have that anyway."

"Right. Of course, I knew that, I've just forgotten. Dean doesn't put things in his mouth; another difference between a moddler and a non-moddler I suppose."  
Good. She can keep away from most of my toys then—I'm pretty sure most of them are choking hazards; I'm not stupid enough to put them in my mouth.

"You might want to skip that box actually, Beck. The wooden blocks are there if you want to pull them out."

The Becky lady takes my car and the box of choking hazards away from us and pulls out the box of blocks; I dump them all out like I always do. Desi immediately spots one and in her mouth it goes. I don't want her drooling all over my blocks. "Ick, Dah-dee."

"It's okay sweetheart—they're made of wood, they'll dry."

I don’t care if they're made of fucking caviar, I don't want her slobbering over my nice blocks.

"Noooo."

"Sorry, Becky. I have a cranky boy—he didn't sleep long enough and the morning's been stressful."  
I'm not cranky.

"It's okay, Sam. I've dealt with plenty of crankiness."

God that woman's voice is annoying.  
"How about you come sit with Daddy, Dean Bean?"  
"No." Yeah. Bit of a dick move considering he's hurt and because of me, but he keeps saying he's fine. I got my toys to worry about.

The little girl, Desi, thinks I'm funny. She's laughing and putting her hands over her mouth then clapping. Okay. Maybe I'm not as little as I thought—least I'm not _that_ much of a baby.

"Here Dean. Watch this!" The Becky lady says way too enthusiastically. "Desi. You wanna play pee-ka-boo?"

The kid's laughing harder now. She covers her face with her hands and opens them awkwardly. I'm not impressed. Daddy is though—he's probably laughing at the pissed off look on my face. I don't need these two morons here; I'd rather be alone with Daddy.

The Becky lady keeps pee-ka-boo going 'till the baby's laughing uncontrollably. Now I am fascinated, the same way one would be in a train wreck. I watch the whole thing go on, because it is the most interesting thing in the room right now.

Daddy's been watching me though. "I know what Dean likes. He likes singing."  
"No."  
"Yes you do. Hey Desi," Daddy says and she looks up to him and when she does, he busts out with another Sharon, Lois and Bram classic. Daddy and papa really like them and sing their songs all the time because they _might_ be under the impression I like them.

"Skinnamarinky dinky dink, skinnamarinky do. I love you," Daddy's looking right at me. ""Skinnamarinky dinky dink, skinnamarinky do. I love you."

"See Desi? Dean's smiling." And he continues, "I love you in the morning and in the afternoon. I love you in the evening, underneath the moon…"

From there it's another round of skinnamarinks and I might be smiling. I love when Daddy and Papa sing, okay? I admit it, Daddy knows it; everyone might as well know it.

By the end of the song, Desi's laughing and the Becky lady says, "so he can smile," which gets her another scowl from me.

I look over to Daddy; he doesn't look so good. I mean, he's doing quite the job of pretending he's not in pain, but I can tell by his eyes; he's hurting. Maybe he is more important than blocks.

I toddle over to him. "Dah-dee, owie?"  
"Sam are you in pain? Didn't they give you anything at the hospital?"  
"They tried, I told them I'd take some Advil when I got home."  
"You and your no pharmaceuticals policy."  
"It's not a 'no' pharmaceuticals policy, it's a limited pharmaceuticals policy. I wouldn't say no to an Advil right about now."

"Okay. Dean, you wanna come with Desi and I, or stay and look after Daddy?"  
I should think the answer obvious, Rebecca. That's what I want to say, but since I can't I tell her, "Dah-dee."

I try to scramble up the couch and get a little boost from behind. "There you go Dean," she says.

I don't need her helping me. This is not a good day; maybe we can get Papa to come home now. It's been a long time. I think he's been at work long enough. "Pah-pa?" I ask.

"I know Baby boy. You're not having a fun time, but Becky and Desi are nice people. Can't you get along with them for just a little while? Papa will be home soon as he can."

I guess so. I rub Daddy's arm 'till the Becky lady and Desi get back; they give him some medicine. "Looks like someone is just interested in helping his daddy today. I have an idea. Desi and I will make tea and we'll watch a movie together. Desi probably won't sit through it like I'm sure Dean will, but I can chase after her."

"Well, sometimes Dean sits through movies and sometimes he doesn't—but I think today he'll be quiet," Daddy says with a poke to my belly. "Sorry you had to waste your day like this Becky. I probably could have got on myself."

"Don't be silly, Sam. Even if I'm just here to get you Advil and change Dean's diaper…"

She's crazy if she thinks she's changing my diaper. "No!"  
"He likes that word."  
"It's his favorite," Daddy sighs. "Would you stop being a monkey, Mister?"

She's not touching me. "No."

"What we going to watch Dean Bean? Should we pick something Desi will like?" Daddy asks.

"Put something on for Dean, Sam. Seriously. Des can't sit still all that long—except sometimes during teletubbies."

Daddy tried to get me to watch that show once; I really wished I had my sawed off to take'em out with, I swear to Christ those things are something supernatural.

"Ahhh… yeah, let's stay away from teletubbies," he says knowing how I feel about those creepy looking rainbow demons. "How about some more shows with singing? Dean will never admit it, but he likes this trio from Canada. When Cas heard, he bought him as many copies as he could find and had them express shipped here. Desi might actually watch those."

Okay fine I admit it—but just between you and I: Sharon, Lois and Bram are fucking rad.

Daddy points Becky to the dvd's; she pops one in.

Daddy is tired. He closes his eyes for a bit and I hear him lightly snoring—poor Daddy.

Becky was right and she had to constantly run around after Desi, but Becky's able to get Desi interested in the singing—a little.

Before she starts the second dvd, she prods at my dick. Okay, okay. It's not quite how I made it sound—she checked my diaper in a totally normal way.

"No," I say.

"Now Dean, your Daddy's sleeping. You don't want to wake him, do you?"

Well no. This feels like blackmail. Manipulative Bitch.

"C'mon, we'll change you right here. I think I spied some supplies near the dvd's." She's already pulling out things. "What do you say Dean?"

I look back at Daddy, he looks like he could really use the sleep. Huh. Fine. I hold my arms out to her and she comes to get me. Desi is chewing on my blocks again.

She lays me down on the carpet. "I don't know what you can understand Dean, but I want to tell you, your daddies and I have been friends a long while—since they moved here."

I know she's just talking to distract me from what she's doing, which is pulling off my pants and untaping my diaper, but only after she's put a new one underneath the old one. She's really good at this—better than Papa, but not quite as good as Daddy. Normally I'd give her a hard time, but I'm feeling pretty sorry for Daddy right now and if I make trouble, he'll just have to deal with me.

She blabbers on and on and on; I pretend to listen, while she wipes my junk clean, looking up once in awhile to check what the slobber monster is doing to my blocks. It doesn't take the Becky lady long I'm all changed and ready to go back to Daddy. I scamper back to the couch.

"I'm just going to dispose of this real quick, you'll keep an eye on Des, won't you Dean?"  
Me? But I'm too little. "Yeah," I say anyway and great, now I feel responsible for the kid.

She's looking at me and gets up with block in her hand to come check me out; she holds the block out to me.

"Hi," I say since I'm not sure what else to do. I'm not really good with babies—and before you say it, quiet in the peanut gallery. I know I am one, but now I see there are some differences.

"Hi," she says, but I think she's mostly parroting me.

I think about what Daddy might say to me. I ask her if she likes the blocks. At least, I say something to that effect. She understands.  
"Yesss," she says. Huh. She can say that better than me. Her articulation is _a lot_ better than mine actually.  
Her mama is back quickly. "You trying to make friends with Dean, Des?"  
She doesn't answer, just looks up and smiles at her mama. "Well I think, after this dvd, what say you to playing outside Dean? We'll let your Daddy get some rest."

I don't want to leave him and I almost tell her no, but when I look to him and see the tense look on his face, even in sleep, I decide the Becky lady is right.

Okay. I'll play outside with her and the baby, for a little while, but then I'm coming back in and sticking to Daddy like glue.

~SDC~

"Fuck!" I slam the phone down and throw whatever's on my desk on the floor. This has got to be the worst day since… well since we had to worry about Crowley and whatever he'd do to Dean.

I've been worried sick about Sam and consequently Dean since I came back to work, but I feel a bit of comfort knowing Becky's there. Sam called earlier saying Becky took the kids outside and that Dean's not being too much of a monster today and that was a bit of a relief.

He's continued to send me text messages throughout the day updating me on his condition and trying to make me laugh with little Dean stories. I know what he's doing; trying to soften me because of earlier when he was arguing with me.

Sam likes it when I take care of him as long as it doesn't interfere with his day. He was mighty irritated that I'd called Becky, but at least he was wise enough not to say it.

But now it looks like I have some making up to do to him.

"Fuck," I say again breathing heavy. I just got off the phone. With my mother.

_"Castiel dear. We can't wait to meet Dean. He's our first grandchild you know," she said._

Yes. I know that well. I don't have as many siblings as Sam. My family's not exactly small, only when you compare it to Sam's.  
_"Yes, mother. We can't wait for you to meet him too."_

_"I'm glad you feel that way. Your father and I are in town—we'll be there tonight."_

Tonight? Sam is going to freak. Yeah, you might be surprised to learn that, since he's the one so insistent I have a strong relationship with my parents in the first place. But I know he'd like to prepare for them, especially my mother, not to mention both of them make him nervous.

Because despite it all, or maybe it's in spite of it all, I have deep respect for both my parents—let's just say it was a really fucked up situation for a little while. He wants to impress them on my behalf, even if I've assured him many times that he doesn't have to try, because he already impresses them.

Their visits usually involve lots of spanking for him—the calming kind, but I can't even do that now because he's hurt.

And I know once my parents hear what's happened to Sam, they'll want to stay to help. After the way he reacted to 'help' from Becky today, that's really going to piss him off. "Fuck!" I look around for something else to throw.

"Mr. Winchester, sir," my secretary, Jim, knocks on my door. "Your four o'clock is here."  
"Send him in then I'm gone for the day."  
"Yes, sir."

~SDC~

The highlight of my day comes when I walk through the door. "Pah-pa!" Dean runs to me and hurls his body at me.

I'm elated that my baby boy's so exited to see me, but when I realize he's been crying, that pit of concern that's been fermenting all day foams over the top. He's not wearing any pants and his diaper feels wet.  
"Dean! Oh God, Cas. There you are and not a moment too soon—Dean's sort of having a melt down," Becky says. She's got Desi on her hip, who's looking at Dean, concerned. Actually she looks like she might cry. I remember it's like that with babies. One starts crying and it sets off a domino of crying with the other babies in the room—like the first baby alerted them to the fact they should be crying.  
Sam likes to believe they're crying on behalf of the baby in distress; either trying to alert a parent, or maybe as a form of sympathy crying. He's says he can't decide which. He's always said babies are highly attuned to emotions in any case.

"Sorry, Becks," I say. My sad little boy curls into me sniffling, but at least he stops crying.

"Don't be. Dean was a good boy; he's just a bit fed up having to put up with a stranger. He let me change his diaper earlier, but when I tried just now, he had a fit. He wanted Daddy to do it, but Sam's… he's in a lot of pain, Cas. He's exhausted—though he won't say so and he refuses to take anymore pain killers."

Why am I not surprised? "That's okay. I'll take care of my wayward husband."

We make our way into the living room and to Sam. At least he knows better than to get up off the couch and when I see the look on his face, I can appreciate how hard that was for him—Dean's not the only one who needed me today.

I lean down to kiss him. "Hi Baby."

"Hi Cas."

"You're in a lot of pain," I tell him in case he didn't know.  
He wants to deny it, but knows that would be pointless. I already know. He nods.  
I don't notice Becky leave to the kitchen until she appears beside me with Advil and a glass of water.  
"Becks, I told you—" Sam begins.  
"Not another word. Take them Samuel."

He does his thing where he balls his hands into fists when he wants to tell me to go to hell, but he doesn't. Instead he takes them and fixes me with a Dean glare. Speaking of; Dean's glaring at Becky and Desi. I think he wants them to go.

Becky senses it's time for her to leave. "I wasn't able to get dinner started Cas…"  
"Not to worry Becky—I didn't expect you to do that."  
"Oh, but I wanted to! We'll just have to have you guys over sometime soon."  
"Definitely."

"I'd better get going now though. I should get home to scrounge some dinner up for my family."  
"Of course—I'll walk you out. Dean, are you okay to stay here and guard Daddy while I walk Becky and Desi to the door?"  
"Yeah."  
"Thanks, kiddo. Papa will come back to change your diaper for you."  
I leave Dean on the floor in front of Daddy with his car. Sam says bye and thanks to Becky, but Dean's quiet. Normally I'd make him be polite and say goodbye, but he looks on the verge of a second meltdown if I'm not careful.

"I'm sorry I left you with two cranky boys today," I say as Becky puts on her shoes and gets hers and Desi's stuff together. "And look at you baby girl—you're getting so big."  
Desi smiles and I see what Sam's talking about. Desi doesn't have that certain ageless twinkle—she's brand new.

"Oh, they were fine Cas—as to be expected. Do you need me to come back tomorrow?"  
"That's sweet, Becks, but we'll be okay."  
"Right, well don't hesitate. We liked Dean even if he didn't appreciate us, didn't we Des?"  
Desi looks at her mama and when Becky responds to her, she uses much simpler language than what we use with Dean. "Dean, Baby. Desi likes Dean?"  
"Yeah," she says.  
"See? He taught her a word."  
"Dean actually said something other than 'no' today?" I laugh.

"He said that a lot too."  
"I'm surprised you even want to come back."

~SDC~

When I return, I see we have a cranky baby on the floor pretending to play with his car, but he's watching his Daddy and I closely.

And I'd suggest we put him to bed early, but my parents will kill me if he's not awake for them to meet upon their arrival—oh good, they get to meet pissed of Dean. Great. That's just great.

I opt for picking Dean up who begins complaining in his whiney cry. I don't understand much of what he's saying, but I get the gist of it. "You didn't have a good day, did you Kiddo?"

"Nooo, Pah-pa. Bad."  
"Dean doesn't like Becky or Desi—especially Desi," Sam explains.  
I kinda gathered that.

Dean curls into me; it feels good and it's worth him being cranky. I sway him side to side.

My husband is much more subdued than he was moments ago; than he's been all day. "Cas I'm sorry about earlier. I didn't mean to argue with you."  
That's probably been eating at him all day too, which is why we usually deal with things right away, but there was no time this morning and unfortunately there's no time now either. "I'm sorry Baby, we're going to have to take care of that later. We have to get ready to go out."

"Go out?" I can see the argument at the tip of his brain, but instead he's going to trust me to take care of things; as he's supposed to, as we do, but a series of situations have been shoved in my face today and nothing's going as either of us would like. I'm dealing with them all best I can, but there aren't many options. Maybe my usual 'save the day' moves have run out.

"My parents called me two hours ago, they're in town and want to meet the baby."  
Sam goes white. "Cas…"  
"I'm sorry Baby. Mother called me at work; I didn't have time to call—I didn't want to send you a message because I knew you'd freak out and I wanted to be here when you did."

"The timing couldn't be worse."  
"I know, Baby."  
"You know when she finds out about my injury, neither of them is going to let us go out for dinner anyway."

"I know that too Baby. But we should at least make it look like we planned to go out; I wouldn't want Mother to think I assumed she'd make us dinner."  
"Right. You're right. I should just trust you—I don't know why I'm having such a hard time with that today."  
"It's okay Baby," I pull his head into me and kiss him hard and sure. "How you feeling?"

"It's hard to breathe, but I'm okay. The Advil helped," he admits begrudgingly. "When will your parents be here?"  
As if on cue, the doorbell rings. So much for getting ready. I wince.  
"Uh-oh," Dean says.

~SDC~

Okay. Things are seriously fucked up. Daddy and Papa are acting… strange. I mean, I know it's got something to do with Gramma and Grampa being here, but I don't know why they're acting like Lucifer showed up.

I've already figured out they are not the kind of grandparents that will whisk me away and take me to Disneyland, but they seem all right.

Gramma gushed over me—for some reason, I don't mind her thinking I'm adorable—it's appropriate I feel. Gramma's are supposed to gush over their grandchildren.

Grampa's a stern, strict looking fellow, but I'm used to that—reminds me of my biological father; John. Papa's a lot like him too actually, but he's been far less severe since I've been this little. I have a feeling his strict demeanor with me will make a speedy return as I age—he's pretty strict with Daddy. I think Papa really does spank Daddy.

In any case, I definitely don't want to mess with Grampa.

Lucky for me, I'm pretty sure he's on my side—he's smiling at me like I'm a freaking miracle. that's gotta be good, right? He looks a lot like Papa, but with grey hairs and a few more wrinkles.

The good news is, now that they're here, I've got my second wind. I'm not as cranky as when Papa came home; though I still say most of that was relief and not crankiness. I didn't want the Becky lady to change my diaper again. She thought I wanted Daddy to change it, but want I really wanted was to wait for Papa to get home to do it. Daddy didn't like that plan either and told me in no uncertain terms to behave. I tried and she got as far as taking my pants off.

So when I heard the door open, I bolted. Then I felt a little guilty. Daddy must have been pretty exhausted not to scold me when Papa carried me back in to see him.

We didn't go out. Gramma knew something was up with Daddy, soon as she saw him. When they told her what happened, she insisted she whip us up a quick, late dinner.

And we're eating in the dining room, which means this meal must be important; least I think.

"He's a doll Castiel. I just love him. You boys must come stay with us for a bit," Gramma says. Gramma's really pretty. She's a young, hip looking Gramma without too much grey hair, but I can tell she's also very proper.

"Of course Mother," Papa says.

When Grampa starts talking to Papa about business, I zone out. It's pretty damn boring. I mean, if they were going to talk about the latest rifle model, I'd eat that shit up, but they're not. They're talking about accounts and people I don’t know about.

Ick.

I focus on squishing the noodles on my plate. Gramma made me some special, homemade, mac and cheese, which Daddy didn't look thrilled about. Probably because I've barely eaten a vegetable all day—it's not been the best day eating wise in Daddy's opinion. But me? I've loved it.

I simultaneously eat and squish. Daddy and Papa look over to me every now and again, but for the first time ever; they aren't focused just on me. Gramma is.  
"Squishing is fun, isn't it doll? But don't you wanna eat more than that? Gramma can help you."

I know what 'help' means; she wants to feed me.  
"No," I say.

"My word Dean Winchester."

I don’t know why, but that makes me blush and needless to say, when she holds the spoon to my mouth I eat, looking at her in awe. I imagine I look something like how that Desi Chick looks when she looks at most things.

It's okay though. I'm pretty sure I can charm her, it's just going to be a lot harder than with Daddy and Papa.

"Are you being a good boy for your grandmother, Sugar?" Daddy asks.

Showtime.

"Yeah," I say and flash a smile at her. It works.

"Look at that smile Clyde. I just want to eat him up."

I point to the macaroni. "Uh!" I say.  
"That's please Mr. Winchester," Gramma says.

I give it my best shot, but it sounds like a mangled version of 'peas.'

It doesn't matter; it's good enough for her. Even if she's a bit strict, I can already tell she thinks the sun shines out of my ass. I like having a Gramma—never had one before.

"Good boy," she says just like Papa.

"Your other boy looks about ready to keel over, Castiel," Grampa says.

"Yeah. I should get him to bed. How you doing Baby?"

"I wouldn't argue with an early night," Daddy says.  
Daddy doesn't usually argue with Papa in general, but today he has—a lot.

"Don't you worry about a thing boys," Gramma says. "We'll have Shane set us up, and I can put the baby to bed…"

Both Daddy and Papa look at me since they know I have strict rules for them about who can do things for me. As much as I already like Gramma, I don’t really want her to put me to bed yet—she doesn't know how Daddy does things. What if she doesn't sing to me? Or forgets my bottle?

But both my Daddies look like they've had the shit beat out of them today, so I decide to do them a solid—but don't get used to it Daddies.

Instead of responding to them, I look at Gramma and point to my macaroni and say my version of 'please.'

Daddy and Papa aren't fooled; they know what I'm doing.

They both come over to me to give me kisses and hugs goodnight. "Thank-you Pumpkin," Daddy whispers in my ear.  
"Night-night, Angel," Papa says.

~SDC~

"They're going to stay, aren't they Cas?"  
"Calm down, Baby. Let's have a soak in the tub and talk about everything. How you doing?"

"Other than tired, I'm okay, physically anyway. But Cassy, she whisked my baby away." He's pouting.

"I know Baby. C'mon." I coax him to out large in suite soaker tub. After I run the water, I begin undressing him. "Arms up."

He follows my instructions, carefully since overhead extension is difficult on his injured side.

"You should take another Advil after our soak—it'll have been four hours."  
"Red."  
"You can't safeword out of the structured part of our relationship, Sam. You know that."

"And you know how I feel about too many pharmaceuticals. You already made me take them earlier and I did."

Yeah. Barely.

"Watch the attitude, Samuel." If I could spank him, I would. I pull his pants and boxers down in one swoop stopping to admire his finely shaped ass that I wish I could fuck. I could really do with a good fuck session about now, but it's another thing we can't do. I pull off his socks one by one as he leans on my shoulders to help him balance.

"Get in," I demand with a decent slap to his ass.

He does another imitation of our son's scowl, but gets in.  
"You need a good spanking."

"I don't Cas. I need you to be reasonable."

He's lost his mind he has. He almost never talks to me this snarky for this long. "You do. But unfortunately I can't do that."  
"Shame."

I ignore his insolent tone and words and undress. Carefully, I slip in behind him. "Samuel," I say in the most chilling tone I can muster and directly into his ear. "I can do plenty of other things to remind you who's calling the shots, other than spanking if necessary, but I think today's been hard and you need something other than punishment. However, continue to push me and I'll do what you need. Am I understood?"

I feel him shiver. "Yes, sir."

"Good. You know there isn't much I can do about my parents, but I will do what I can, as always. They won't stay more than a week. I'll take care of you and Dean."

"I know. I'm sorry. I'm frustrated—and you're right, I probably do need a spanking."

I run my hands through his hair.

He sinks into me and finally let's go—let's me take over again. Sam doesn't like to admit it, but he's got control issues too. They're much different than mine. Whereas I need to harness control, he needs to relinquish it, but every now and then it creeps up. Especially when a situation is beyond all control, like now, he tries to take control. That's when I really need to exert my alpha.

He's crying. That's a good sign. I usually have to spank him awhile to get here with him.

"I can't look after him, Cassy. It's killing me." He wipes his eyes then splashes his hand back down into the water.  
"I know Darling."

"Maybe it's good your mama stays. She seems to be able to get him to behave and I think Dean likes Gramma."

"Oh yeah. There's something in Mother's voice…"  
"I know right? Makes you feel like you've sinned, but if you just do what she says, you can redeem yourself."  
We laugh and it feels good. Some of the tension melts away.

"I'll phone the boys tomorrow and cancel," Sam says. Right. In all the ruckus, I forgot about Sam's night out.

"I think that's best Baby."

"I knew you would. Just sucks. I was looking forward."  
"I know, Baby." I kiss his cheek.

"What happened with the Piazza account?"  
It's a quick change of subject and catches me off guard—I was hoping he wouldn't ask. "We lost it."

"Cas… that was a…"  
"A twenty million dollar account? Yeah I know. Made us two million annually. Father will be pissed, but he'll get over it. He'll understand."

"Lordy Be, Cas. If you'd just let me go on my own to the hospital…"  
"Not another word about that, Baby. I'm not worried about it. It's a big loss, but it's not like that's going to bankrupt us."

"Your mother staying with us is best then—you won't worry about me so much if she's here."  
True.

With him resting against me, I can feel how awful his breathing is which reminds me. "I know you're not going to like this, but you're taking painkillers Sam."

"Cas… No I…"  
"Uh-uh. No arguing, Baby. I do respect how you feel about taking pharmaceuticals. I'm not telling you to live off them; just for the fist bit, 'till you can breathe decently. We'll get you to the Naturopath—maybe they'll have a more natural remedy for longer term."  
The doc said it's going to be six weeks before his ribs will have healed in full.

He's quiet, but he nods.

~SDC~

I'm trying not to cry when Papa and Daddy leave, but thankfully Gramma's dealt with babies before and she's able to come up with a good distraction. "Hey doll, now that the Daddies are in bed, you want some ice-cream?"

"Claire Winchester…"  
She's laughs. Gramma's got a musical laugh. "I'm just going to give him a bite or two. I've never got to spoil a grandson before. You won't be mad, will you Clyde?"  
Wow. Gramma is a master manipulator. How in the hell is Grampa supposed to turn down those eyes? The answer is, he can't.

"Just a few bites then—I kind of want to spoil him too. Do you think they'd let us buy him a horse?"

A horse? What the hell do I need a horse for? "No," I say.  
"You don't like horses?" Grampa says in his rich accent. He reminds me of a southern oil tycoon.  
I shake my head.

"How about a car?" He tries again as Gramma removes the tray from my highchair and uses a cloth to clean me up.  
I've already got Baby, but it doesn't mean I'd say no to having a second car. "Yeah."  
"You hear that Claire, Dean likes cars. We'll buy Dean a car then."

He makes it sound like he's buying it tomorrow. He knows I'm not old enough to drive right? I've already got more cars than most kids my age.

"Here there Claire—I'd like to hold my grandson for half a minute, if you don't mind."  
"But I've barely got to hold him."  
"And I have a feeling you'll be holding him all night and the days to come if I know that look in your eye."

Gramma lets him pick me up.  
"You're a solid little fellow." He sits me on his hip a bit awkwardly—I don't think Grampa's had as much experience with babies as Gramma has. I look over to her.

"I assure you, you're in good hands, doll. Your Grandfather might look scary, but he's a big softy on the inside—just don't tell your Papa that," she says. Then she fucking winks at me.  
She thinks I'm scared of him. Do I look scared? I'm not.

"Don't tell him all my secrets, Claire."

The three of us trek into the kitchen and Grampa sits me on the island's counter while Gramma rummages through the fridge-freezer. We proceed to eat ice-cream straight out of the carton! If only Daddy knew, he'd have a fit.

"Aren't you worried the ice-cream will keep him up all night?"

It's a bit late for that Grampa—you should have asked that before we dug in. "I'm not worried. This boy's a shadow of himself right now—we've not seen the best of Dean Winchester. Even a couple bites of sugary ice-cream's not going to keep him up."

I feel pretty awake Gramma, I want to tell her, but of course I fucking yawn. "See?" She says to Grampa.  
"Well, I'll be. How do you remember so much about babies? Our babies haven't been babies for a long time."

"A Mother never forgets and I had three of them, Clyde."

"I think I remember something about that," he teases.  
Wow. These two are sappy like Daddy and Papa; they're pretty rad. So why do Daddy and Papa seem so tense around them?

Gramma decides I've had enough and I smile big when I see she's preparing a bottle for me. She knows!

"Why don't you undress him for me, Clyde? Do you want to change his diaper?"

"Oh no. Dirty diapers have never been my area of expertise," Grampa says and I'm kinda glad. I'd rather Gramma does it if I can't have Daddy or Papa. I'm not used to Grampa yet.

"All right, give him here then. Why don't you go on up to bed? I'll take care of the babe."

As Gramma's picking me up off the Kitchen Island, I look down and see something fugly.  
_You! I see we meet again._

Without thinking, I point at the spider, the very same asshole from this morning, who's racing across the bottom of the island by Gramma's foot trying to get back to his hideout. "  
Uh!" I shout, which means 'look Gramma.'

But maybe I shouldn't have. What if the arachnophobia my daddies have is a genetic trait?

In one fluid motion, Gramma's looked up at me and has already sighted the spider. She barely has to move to bring her expensive looking, black leather pump down on the bastard spider that I hold completely responsible for hurting my daddy.

I'm completely in awe of this woman  
"Ick!" I say to Grampa.  
"Yes, Ick. I hope you'll clean that up Claire, or at least put a pot over it for the staff to get."

My jaw drops and I look at Gramma in amazement. "Your Grandfather's afraid of spiders," she tells me quietly, probably so Grampa won't hear.  
"I heard that, Claire. Just clean it up, yeah hear?"  
"Yes, Clyde."

Grampa can't even come near us—I guess we're too close to the spider. "Night, y'all," he says and gets the fuck out of dodge.

Gramma's laughing. "Well now, Dean. How about a story, or a song to go with this bottle?"  
"Yeah," I say. Chilling with Gramma's gonna be all right.


	16. Cas to the Rescue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Gramma and Grampa Winchester coming in and taking over, everything's disrupted and there's not much Dean and Daddy can do. But they know Papa can. 
> 
> It's complicated though. No one wants to upset Grampa. Thankfully Papa knows just what to do with a little help from Gramma, but keeping it a surprise leads to events that upset Daddy. If only he would just trust Papa, everything would be all right, but it's hard when things are REALLY not going your way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was blown away with how many people loved Gramma Winchester! LOL. Hopefully you'll still like her after this--she's not perfect, but she is pretty rad. 
> 
> I did not realize I'd broke 100K. Crazy. Guess I'm too wrapped up in these guys! I've got another long one here for you guys, so grab a cuppa. 
> 
> Thank-you again for all the love and as usual, I will respond to everyone today, but I always think it's better to get the chapter out first, so you have something to read while I write back to y'all.

"Sam. Sam?"  
"Yeah?" It's more snappish than I mean it to be.  
"Is that any way to speak to a lady, young man?"

Of course he sounds a lot like Cas and my body responds to him the same—well maybe not quite the same, though maybe a little the same. I am a guy after all and as wrong as this will sound, Mr. Winchester is hot. But while I admire his good looks and Cas-like dominance (which he of course inherited from his daddy), I'm ultimately attracted to one man and one man only. It does make me look forward to when Cas will have some stray grey hairs and a few lines on his face…

But Clyde Winchester is a man who expects to be obeyed, which I know I haven't been doing an exemplary job of, but since he's similar in demeanour to my husband, I respond just like I would if Cas was displeased with me; my nerves already shot from three days of life under the rule of Winchester Senior. Not to mention, I'm frustrated, they keep separating me from Dean and I want Cas, like, all the time. I need him here. He knows what to do with me when I'm like this. I'm having a hard time coping with not being able to care for my little boy.

I wince. "No, sir. I mean, yes, sir. I mean—" Fudge.

"Oh Clyde. His mind's just wandering on account of the pain. We know what gracious, polite boy Adelaide and Samuel raised."

"Nonsense. He's been like this for three days. And if he's in so much pain, he should be in bed resting like I've been telling Castiel. Not down here distracted by the baby. To your room, son," he says. He's barely lifted his eyes from the newspaper.

I ball my fists. It's one thing to be sent to my room by Cas and another when it's his father. But you don't disobey Clyde Winchester. After all, I didn't marry into a domestic discipline relationship, I married into a domestic discipline family and yep, you got it, that means Clyde can discipline me too. I like to avoid that at all costs.

Of course at the current moment, he's not punishing me; he's concerned for me as Cas would be; doesn't make it any less infuriating.

And if it were Cas, I could issue some sort of plea bargain, but I don't know Clyde as well as I know my husband, even if I've known Cas' parents since I was five. To add to my plight, if I say the wrong thing and wind up in trouble, I know how disappointed Cas will be. His parents' approval is important to him and my misbehavior is a reflection of him; I don't want to make him look bad; I don't want to see that look of foundering on his face, because to top off that particular sundae, Cas will get reamed out by his father too—perhaps even punished.

Weighing all of this, it's not worth it for me to answer back; say the wrong thing and land both Cas and me in deep water.

Thankfully, Dean's on my side.

"No! No! No! Dah-dee no guh-on!" He says smashing his spoon and scowling at his grandfather in full force.

"See here now, Dean. That's no way to talk to your grandfather. Claire."

And that's not the way to get a small child to behave. Clyde's the firm disciplinarian in the family and while Cas may have less 'kid-experience' than me, at least he gathered some 'kid-experience' with me. Claire did the raising.

Claire has sympathy for me, but even she won't argue with her husband's ruling. "That's enough, Doll. Don't you want your daddy to get better?"

"Dah-deeeee…" Dean whines and holds his little arms out to me; without thinking I jump up quickly, _too quickly_ to get him but end up crying out.

"I do believe I asked you to do something Samuel."

In other words, I've just asked you twice—yeah, I've heard that phrase often enough from Cas, but how am I supposed to leave my baby who's about to break out in tears?

"Yes, sir."

"Sam, wait," Claire says.  
"Claire."  
"Hush, Clyde." She takes Dean, who's building up to a full on temper tantrum, out of his highchair. "Give Daddy a kiss—we'll visit him later. Dean and Grandmother are going to re-do Daddy and Papa's atrocious gardens out front."

I don't want or need her to re-do my gardens. They're fine. I don't say so. She goes on about all the kinds of flowers she's apparently already ordered that were delivered this morning. This is the first I've heard of it.

I've made the painful transition from sitting to standing and Claire makes her way over to me with Dean, who wants desperately to come to me, but Claire won't let him.

She does let him lean over to plant a sloppy, baby kiss on my lips. It does little to appease him though and he complains to his grandmother.

"I know, Doll face, but Grandfather says we must let Daddy rest."

From the look on Dean's face, I can tell exactly what he's thinking: _Fuck Grampa._

"Daddy's okay, Dean Bean. Your grandfather's right, I need a rest. I'll come back down to see you later."

"You'll come back down when I say you can and not a moment before, Samuel. How does Castiel run this house? There are going to be changes, _changes!_ "

Wonderful. I've pissed him off.

"If I could give you a spanking right now, I would." He folds up his paper the same way Cas would if he were irritated.

"Yes, sir. I'm sorry."

Dean's looking at his grandfather with scared, wide eyes. He grabs onto his grandmother.

I sigh and dammit, my eyes are tearing. As much as I don't know how to 'handle' Clyde Winchester, he doesn't know how to 'handle' me.

"Go on then," he tells me for the third time, which we've already established, he doesn't like. "I'll be up to speak with you in a moment."

Fantastic.

Dean's screaming by the time he realizes I'm walking away from him, which only makes his screams and pleas for Daddy louder and I have to steel myself against his cries. I know he'll be just fine, but it doesn't stop my aching heart. I make my way to our bedroom, pull my cell phone out and think about calling Cas, but put my phone back down and prop myself up on the bed and pull out my copy of the Goldfinch.

I really don't want to bother Cas at work. He'll come straight home and he can't do that right now.

But the Winchester's were right, I am staring to feel the pain again; it's harder to breathe since it's getting closer to the time I have to take another dose of pain meds. I understand I need to reduce the pain enough so I can breathe and prevent lung infection, which can happen when your lungs don't move, but I also know how terrible painkillers are. So I make sure to wait the full four hours before each dose.

I wait twenty minutes, then take my allotted dosage; it's thirty minutes after that there's a knock on my door. "Samuel?"

"Here, sir. Please come in." I know what he's going to talk to me about; I haven't been living up to Winchester standards these three days—not his standards anyway. I haven't had time to prepare and it's got nothing to do with my injury; though it certainly doesn't help.

"How's your pain, son?"

"Good. I just took some more Advil, sir. Sir, I'm sorry about downstairs. I know how to behave and I respect you."

"I accept your apology Samuel, but that's not going to save you the lecture I came to give you," he says sternly, but with soft eyes.

"I do not appreciate being ignored; I do not, I say, I do not like to repeat myself."

Yes. I know. I don't point out he just did and does often. He's like Foghorn Leghorn sometimes.

"When you became a Winchester—when you were thinking about becoming Winchester, that was all made clear to you. Yes?"

"It was, sir."  
"I recollect you agreeing to follow our rules."

"I did, sir."

"I know you are in pain; I still expect the same standard of behaviour, from all my children, that will include Dean. When he sees you act disrespectfully toward me, I lose authority."

"I didn't mean to. I just worry about him. He's not been long without his Daddy."

"Maybe it's time he was. Some time apart will be good for the both of you."

I don't know what he means, but I don't like it and I don't agree. A worried pit forms in my belly.

He carries on with his standard respect lecture, one I've heard before and am sure I'll hear again, but I'm barely listening—what does he mean by time apart? What is he planning?"

I apologize again before he leaves.

When I'm alone, I can't stop thinking about that one thing he's said—I feel like he's planning something, or at least thinking about something: Something to do with Dean and time apart from me.

My eyes fall on the Superman figurine, at the top of the little wicker basket of Dean's stuff I keep by our bed. Cas. I need Cas. He'd know what to do.

I still don't want to bother Cas, but I pick up my phone again anyway. This time I do call Cas.

~SDC~

Not cool, Grampa. Not cool.

It's been three days of my daddy not being able to pick me up; not feeding me, not putting me to bed. It's horseshit.

I tried complaining to Papa, but he won't do anything. At least he feels bad; but he keeps telling me how hurt Daddy is and that he wants to pick me up, but can't.

I know it's killing Daddy too, so I've tried not to complain, but today I kinda lost it.

"Why the long face, Mr. Winchester?" Gramma asks.

"Dah-dee," I say from behind my soother.

We're outside, like she told daddy we would be and I get to play in the dirt—which I like; Gramma's even letting me squish the black soil in my hands—but I can't stop thinking about Daddy.

I didn't think Grampa was very nice to him, not to mention _I_ should be taking care of him.

"I know, Doll, but I'll make you a deal. I know exactly how your grandfather works and if we play our cards right, we can spring Daddy, maybe as soon as after your nap. Sound good?"

That's a long time away, but it's the best I'm going to get. "Yeah."

"Good. So you get rid of that long face and that's just what we'll do."

Gramma's decked out in her gardening garb. She's wearing khaki shorts, a pale blue blouse and a sunbonnet. Her black pumps have been traded in for flat sandals. She says I'm helping her, but I haven't really got the dexterity for proper digging, or planting. 'Cept some of the flowers do look interesting.

While she kneels on her little blue pad and plants, I check out some of said cool flowers. First I touch the petals. Feels strange. I give a little tug and suddenly the petal is in my hand instead of the on the flower.  
"Uh-oh."

"Are you pulling the petals off of my flowers, Dean Winchester?"  
It's not a real scolding. She sounds like she's trying not to laugh. "Uh!" _Look Gramma!_

"I see that Doll. But you're not supposed to take the petals off—it hurts them."  
Hurts them? You're a bit crazy Gramma. But I decide to leave them alone just in case. My attention is quickly distracted by the little bees floating above the clover flowers in the grass; I get up to investigate. "Don't go too far from Gramma, child."

I hear her, but I'm involved. The little bees buzz around and land their little black legs on the white clover flowers for a second, then they're off to the next. I get low, so I can see, and I already know not to touch. Daddy said the bumble ones probably won't bother with me, but the honey ones might if I irritate them. He said they're busy working, like Papa and also like Papa they get grumpy when you bug them too much at work.

I can't remember which are which, but there are definitely two different kinds floating from clover flower to clover flower. Because I'm quiet for a while, Gramma decides to check in with me. "What are you doing over there, Doll?"  
"Beezz!" I say pointing.

"I see the bees, Doll. They're pretty aren't they? You be careful, now. You don't want to get stung—I should have checked with your papa if you're allergic."  
I already know to be careful. "No," I say. I don't think I'm allergic.

She must believe me since doesn't take me away from the bees and continues to plant. I wonder what Daddy's going to think about her changing all his flowers. I know he liked his garden the way it was. I've noticed that about Gramma and Grampa—they're well meaning, but they tend to do things because they think they're good and not necessarily what Daddy and Papa will like or want. They're also really strict with Daddy and Papa, but luckily not so much with me.

Dinners are _so_ quiet, I often have to entertain everyone and Daddy seems on edge the whole time. He's not his bubbly, happy self. I know he's not feeling good, but I think that has little to do with it.

Gramma and Grampa also have lots of helpful advice on what my parents should do with me. I can tell Daddy and Papa don't like that either, but they always say, "yes, Mother and yes Father."  
What happened to their balls?

My own balls leave the building when I hear Grampa's voice. I've been trying to act tough, but I'm realizing now, he scared me this morning. I run to Gramma and fall when I hit the pavement scraping my knees and hands all up. I cry.  
"Oh, Dean," Gramma says dropping her digging tool.  
"I got him, Claire," Grampa says.

I can't protest much, because I'm crying already, but I'm scared. What if Grampa stops liking me? Will he use that same scary voice on me he used on Daddy? Will he send me to my room?

"Poor little, Cowboy fell off his horse. Let's see the damage." He sits me on the bench nearest where Gramma's planting and crouches down. Gramma pretends to continue planting, but she's focused on me.

My hands aren't too bad, but one of my knees is bleeding a little bit. "Not bad, but that knees looks like string chicken."

What the hell is string chicken, Grampa?

"I think we're going to have to clean this up inside. Claire, do you know where they keep the Band-Aids?"

~SDC~

We head inside and I'm not crying anymore, but I'm stone frozen with fear like I've never been and that's saying something considering my previous career. Come to think of it, Grampa would have made a pretty good hunter himself.

I'm clinging onto him though because it's still comforting even if I'd rather it be anyone else.

We head to one of the downstairs washrooms and Grampa sits me on the counter. "Don't move, Dean."

I don't. Not like when it was Papa and I climbed off the change table. Gramps looks like he's a spank first, ask questions later kind of guy. I don't _think_ he'll spank a baby, but the uncertainty has me careful not to move.

He returns with Band-Aids and a washcloth.

"C'mon Dean. There's no 'cause to be scared of Grampa—I know why you ran to Gramma."

You and I know I was scared, but it doesn't mean I like anyone else to know. I'm brave enough to scowl at him. He laughs.

I'm surprised that he's not rough at all as he cleans me up with soap and water. The one knee hurts bit though and I complain. "Ah-huh, ah-huh, owwwie…"

"I know. Grampa's almost done. Be brave for just a second longer lil' Cowboy." There is something sure and steady about his voice I like—when it's not the scary voice.

He finishes washing out all my little scrapes and I get a cool Batman Band-Aid outta the deal. I point my little index finger at it to get him to look at it—yeah I know he's the one who put it on me. I still want to show it off to him.

"That's that bat-guy, right?"  
Batman, Grampa. I laugh.

"That's funny is it? Funny that Grampa doesn't know all the names of the super heroes?"  
"Yeah."

When Grampa's like this, he's not so bad, he's like Papa.  
"I'm not so scary, Dean. I just like order is all. I don't know how much you understand—can you understand me, Dean?"

Not really—well probably not like a grown-up would anyway, but sort of and no at the same time. "Yeah," I say anyway, I know it'll make him feel better. I've learned people like to natter at babies whether they understand, or not. Since I'm me, and not a baby quite like Desi, I'm bound to pick up some.

"Right. Well I like order and for things to be run a certain way—your daddies know that. They know what I expect and what they can expect if they don't meet my specifications. Don't you worry about a thing little cowboy."

I worry about my daddies and as soon as they tell me not to worry I'll stop. But at the moment, I have a different worry.

"Off," I say pointing to my shorts, which contain my diaper. Daddy and Papa know what off means and so does Gramma, since Papa told her, but I'm certain Grampa has no idea.

"You want to take your shorts off?"

"No. Off."

He's puzzled, but at least he knows what to do. "Let's take you to see your grandmother."  
He sets me on his hip and we trek back outside.

"He keeps saying, 'off.' Any idea what that means?" Grampa says in his funny accent. His 'what' sounds a lot more like 'hwhut.'

"He needs his diaper changed is all." Gramma wipes her hands off on her pants. "Give him here then."  
I feel like a football being passed up and down the field, going in the house, out of the house. 'Cause back inside the house I go with Gramma, but Grampa surprises us by following. We go all the way up to the nursery.

"What do you think you're doing, Clyde?"  
"He needs his diaper changed, you said."  
"You haven't changed a diaper in your life. Why, just the other night you declared you still didn't."

"Well maybe it's time I learned."  
She looks at her husband like she's never seen him before. "You? Please."  
"I'm insulted, Claire."  
"Don't be insulted Clyde Winchester—just pass me a diaper."

Gramma shows him how to change my diaper and I do not appreciate being the show model; I scowl at the two of them.  
"I think I could do that—I'll do the next one."  
"What are you up to Clyde?"  
"Nothing. I was just thinking is all—what if he were ever to come stay with us?"  
"You won't have to worry about that, he'd be with his daddies—they'd change his diaper."  
"You never know—they may let him come for a visit on his own."  
Gramma looks at him funny, like maybe she thinks he cooking up a scheme, but doesn't say anything.  
" _If_ that happened, it seems easy enough," he says.  
"If only you'd said that with one of our babies."  
"Oh, come on now, Claire. I was working hard then. I didn't want to change diapers."

She laughs. I don't think she thinks that’s any kind of an excuse, but she's not really bothered by it; she likes to tease Grampa. "Here diaper man—take him back outside and show him a good time. We'll come back in for lunch in an hour and then it will most likely be time for him to take a nap."

So that's what we do, and true to her word, Gramma was able to swindle me a visit with Daddy and even spring him from jail.

The whole time I'm aware something is going on, but for the life of me can't figure it the fuck out. Whatever it is, I know there's only one person that can save us: Papa.

~SDC~

"Owwie," Dean says pointing at his Batman Band-Aid, which I can tell he likes.

"Did you hurt your knee, Dean Bean?"  
"Yeah," he nods his little head, his soft curls nod with him.

"What else did you do?"  
Dean tells me about the bees and I assure his grandmother he's not allergic.  
"He also hung out with Grampa for a bit. They get along well together."

I'm glad Dean gets along with him; it's important to Cas.

Dean's cuddled into me; he's fresh with energy because he's just napped, but he's actually staying put. The little guy must be missing me.

"You're being such a good boy for Gramma and Grampa," I tell him and he beams a smile at me. Little boys love praise.

"Owwie, Dah-dee?" He wants to know about my 'owwie' now.

"Daddy feels a bit better—the rest did help."

He reaches over to my arm and pats it consolingly, I have to bite my lip so I don't laugh and insult him, but he's so gosh darn cute. "I have an idea, Dean. Why don't you take Grampa out to see your car this afternoon?" Maybe that will help get rid of the silly notion that he needs to buy Dean another car.

"Dean's car?"

"Yeah, Dean's car." I smile and card my fingers through his hair. I love my baby boy. Being away from him, not being able to look after him solidifies how much I don't mind spending my every waking moment taking care of him. Love it in fact.

"Dah-dee?" In other words: 'Can Daddy come?'  
I look up to Claire. "I could ask him Sam, but he hasn't said."

I swear there's a twinkle in her eyes; what's she up to now?

"I'd better wait for Papa to get home, Dean Bean."  
He doesn't look happy with that, but I think he's somehow managed to grasp how it works when Grampa's around.

"Castiel says there's a doctor coming by sometime this afternoon?"  
That's right. The Naturopath. Only Cas could get a Naturopath to come by the house. "Yes. He'll be here soon."

"Well then, why don't I take Dean to play some more and you can get ready for that. I'm sure Clyde will remove his silly restriction by tomorrow."

At least Mother Winchester agrees this restriction is silly. Though I've always felt a similar nervousness with her as I do with Father Winchester, I do get on with her well—even if she's constantly doing well-meaning things I don't like—like rearranging my garden.

"Thanks, Mother."

"Nooo," Dean complains.  
"You don't want to leave Daddy?" I say.

"No."  
"Even if Daddy suddenly turned into… the tickle monster?" I tickle his belly and get a few huge giggles out of him.  
"No, Dah-dee."  
I love that he feels more confident stringing words together. "How about the kissing monster?" The drugs have been working too good, I don't have much trouble reaching down with my 'good' side and bringing him close enough to kiss all over.

"Ah! Mam-mah! Mam-mah!" _Help me Gramma, help!_  
I haven't heard that one yet. "Can you say Gramma, Dean Bean?"  
"Mam-mah."

"He hasn't said that yet," Claire says. She's got tears in her eyes.  
"Dean loves his 'Mam-mah,'" I say.  
"C'mere Doll." She scoops him up and starts kissing him all over next. Dean squeals. "Ick."  
I laugh.

Maybe some good has come out of this—they never would have got time together in quite the same way if I weren't hurt. Dean loves his Gramma Winchester. I hope he'll like his Nana Colt just as much.

"Come hell or high water, we'll all be eating dinner together—so you rest up. Y'hear?"  
"Yes, Ma'am."

Not long after they leave the doc shows up. I've seen many Naturopaths in my life. My own mama has about a million home remedies she always used with us that worked just fine, it wasn't 'till I moved away from home that I was introduced to the world of pharmaceutical drugs. Mama never had use for giving us even a Tylenol and we all did just fine.

It was about that time, when Cas and I moved here that I began seeing various ND's. Some are good and some, quite frankly are out there, like way out there. I've picked a few I like for different reasons.

But the one Cas has got coming to the house today, specializes in herbs—I specifically requested him. He looks like Shaggy from Scooby-do, but he really knows his stuff. He's helped me a lot in the past.

"Dude! So you broke some ribs," is how he greets me when he gets here.  
"Unfortunately."  
"Well, me to the rescue—I've got some great stuff that's going to help you with the pain _and_ help you heal your ribs. I'm also going to give you something for your lungs, keep the airways clean. And dude, I'm going to leave you with my special, Rib Fracture Tea. It's my own special concoction of ten different herbs; it'll decrease the pain and help with healing too. I do advise you to lay off the Advil—non-steroidal anti-inflammatories have been shown in studies to increase healing time—meaning it'll take a lot longer."

It's the best news I've had all day and I silently thank my husband for sending the Naturopath, knowing how much I hate taking pharmaceutical type drugs. I'm not against drugs that help, but I know too much about so-called 'FDA approved' drugs and their harmful side effects.

He also left me with some Bromelain, another compound from pineapple shown to reduce healing time in fractures, pain, bruising and inflammation. All of this is heartening. I ask him to write that down for me to show Cas.

"But dude, you should rest. It's great your folks are here."  
"They're my husband's parents and yeah, they've been helpful." They have been even if it's not the help I want.

"Good. You'll want them around when you're taking that tea. There are no harmful side effects, but you probably don't want to look after a baby while taking it."

"Huh?"

"Let's just say, you won't be higher than a kite, but you will be floating off the ground a bit."

"Gotcha, Doc. How long will I have to drink the tea?"

"If you do all the extras in helping your bones heal and taking the inflammation down a notch, it should only take three weeks for you to be out of sharp pain. You should be able to stop the tea at that time and just use the arnica."

"Okay, that's great Doc." I don't exactly relish on being 'high' for three weeks, but am soothed by the knowledge that there aren't any negative side effects.

"Not to worry, Dude. You'll still be in control of yourself, it's not like being drunk or stoned. You'll just feel euber relaxed. Though it tends to be a bit of a truth serum. You might say what's on your mind more, but it'll be nothing you wouldn't have wanted to say."

Great. So in other words I'm about to be in more trouble with my in-laws and subsequently, Cas. But the tea is the more attractive option for me, so there's no doubt I'm ditching the Advil.

I thank him profusely and I know Cas will compensate him generously. When he's gone, I get up since I've been resting a while now, and head to the bay window in our room that overlooks the yard. I can see Dean down there playing with his Gramma. They're kicking a ball around—at least, Dean's trying his best to. He falls a lot and he's going to have grass stains all over his clothes, but it's all worth it to see that look of joy on his face.

Okay. Okay. For the third time now, I realize this was good for Dean even if it's been hell for Cas and me.

I get Shane to have the Rib Fracture Tea made for me and I apply some arnica—carefully—to the area. The ribs are no longer taped. Our family doctor, who came by after I'd been in emerge said I didn't need the tape; that I'd heal better if the ribcage could move.

A couple hours later, Mother Winchester comes up bearing Dean and the news that I'm free of my confinement and I have a feeling this is what she'd been up to. Good. It was beginning to feel a bit like a punishment.

I'm actually feeling pretty good from all the stuff Dr. Shaggy supplied me with (and for the record, his name is actually Dr. Davis, but both Cas and I agreed that's way too normal a name for him, so we call him Dr. Shaggy). He's was right though. I feel a bit loopy, but in control, not to mention super relaxed.

Dean grabs onto my leg, squealing. "Dah-dee!"  
"Dean!" I say back trying to imitate him. "Did you have fun outside with Gramma?"  
"Yeah."

"I'm going to make us some dinner—I thought you could come down and occupy a certain someone, that is, if you're feeling okay?" Claire says and moves the hair out of my eyes in a motherly gesture.  
I look down at Dean and see him smiling up at me. "This is the best I've felt all day."

~SDC~

"Pah-pa! Pah-pa! Pah-pa!" Dean barrels toward me, and jumps, fully expecting me to lift him in the air and I do.

"Hey, Kiddo. You miss me?"  
"Yeah." He grabs onto my neck tight as he can.  
This has been a new development, since I'd gone back to work after my holiday, but it also coincided with Sam getting hurt. I hope he'll still be as excited to see me when Sam is better.

But today there's a little more behind it and I can't help but think he's been waiting and waiting for me to get home. If Dean could use the phone, I think I'd have got a call from him today too.

"I missed you too and Daddy. How is he?"

Dean's face falls a little. "Dah-dee, owwie Pah-pa."  
"Did his owwie hurt him today?"  
Dean nods seriously. "Yeah."

Mother saunters in from the other room probably having known where Dean went and watching him the whole time, but wanting to give us our moment.  
"Hello, sweetheart. How was your day?"  
"Long."  
"I've got dinner ready. Sam's doing better. As Dean said, his injury was hurting him this morning, but he seems to be doing better since the doctor came by."

Good. I knew I could count on Dr. Shaggy. We've known him awhile and I trust him. We trust him.

I follow my mother carrying Dean into the kitchen, still wearing my trench coat and shoes. Sam's sitting at the kitchen table drinking a tea that smells god awful. "Hi Baby," I say and kiss him anyway hoping I don't get a taste of whatever the hell he's drinking.

"Hi Cas. Am I ever glad to see you."

I know he'd jump into my arms if he could; his eyes are brighter than I've them in days and I'm shocked to hell considering the phone call I got from him earlier. I worried about him all damn day and this time I really couldn't leave work. Since my parents were here, if I left work and fucked up the business deal I made today, my father would have disowned me.

I'm only partially relieved though.

"What is that?"  
"Rib fracture tea," he says taking another sip.  
I squint at him. Now that I'm looking at him longer, there's something funny about his eyes—they're not bright from happiness, they're bright for another reason.

"Are you high?"  
"Not sure if 'high' is the right word, but I'm something. This tea makes me a little loopy, but it helps the pain like nothing else."

That makes me laugh. Sam barely drinks and now he's high off tea. It's kinda funny.

I put Dean in his lap so I can take my coat off. "Where's Father?"

"He had a couple of phone calls to make. You should see him with Dean—I think your father is in love. Dean calls him 'Pah," Mother says.

Well… wonders never cease. Father's never really been into kids.  
"I was getting the impression Father scared the pants off him," I say hanging my coat on the hook by the door in the kitchen. Someone will come and put it where's it's supposed to go, which is the door in the front of the house.

Dean scowls at me. "Sorry, I forgot. Dean's not scared of anything."  
"You were a little scared today, weren't you Doll?"  
"No."  
We all laugh. "He was a little," Mother insists. "But I think that bothered your father. He's eased up ever since."

Huh. So there is a way through my father's cool exterior.

"Castiel?"  
Speaking of…

"Hello Father," I say snatching Dean up again. I know he's less than pleased with how much I let Sam do in his current state. But I'm different than he is. I know how Sam operates on another level and feel it will increase his healing time being separated from our son for too long. Try telling my father that—he thinks it's pure nonsense.

"Leave the baby with your mother. I'd like to speak with you before dinner."  
"Yes, sir."  
Dean goes to her easily. Looks like someone else has fallen in love. I give my mother a knowing look as I give her Dean—Sam wasn't the only one to call me today.

Father uses my office, only I'm the one sitting in the 'visitor's' chair and he's sitting on my desk, arms crossed over each other. "How did it go today, with the merger?"  
Father is retired; has been since he gave the company over to me, but he still sits on the board and is as actively involved as he can be.

I smile. "Winchester-Colt now owns Remington."  
"Good job, Son." He pats me on the back for that one—huge sign of affection in our very formal family.

It's not why he really wanted to talk to me.

My father, never one to beat around the bush, gets to the point. "I want to take Dean home with us for a little while, just 'till Sam gets a little better. It'll only be for a couple weeks. It will be less of a distraction and Sam won't have to be confined to your bedroom all day."  
Notice he's telling, not asking.

Thankfully it's not the first I've heard of this today.  
I tell him about the thing I began working on since after the merger, the thing that took the rest of my day—though I can't take all the credit, I did have a little help at the office.

"Oh. I see." The look of disappointment on his face almost breaks me—he really has fallen for Dean. I understand; it's hard not to. And he wouldn't stop there if he didn't think I had everything under control. He cares about Sam too, even if his way of showing it is… harsh.

"We're going to come visit father, we've got a trip planned for after Sam's better. We'll spend time with you and mother and time with Sam's family."  
"Right, well if you're all looked after…"  
"I'm hoping you and mother will stay the rest of the week and another after that? We could really use your help."  
"Of course, son." He's grim about it though; I don't think he wants to go at all.  
"Good. I'm going to need you both. Dean needs you both. Always."

~SDC~

"I think someone is ready for bed," Sam says quietly knowing his little boy too well.  
"No," Dean says, hearing him anyway—the kid has some sort of radar for that kind of thing. Gramma'd just bathed him and changed his diaper; she'd deposited him on the floor of the living room where Sam and I were sitting with Father, relaxing. I told them both all about the big merger meeting.

He's been playing about thirty minutes and already he's rubbing his eyes and getting mad at his toys.

Dean's not the only one ready for bed. Sam looks exhausted.

"I think it's Daddy's bedtime too. What do you think, Dean?"  
Dean giggles. "Yeah."

"I can put the baby to bed, so you can put Sam to bed," Mother offers.

"Pah-pa?" Dean says. His eyes say what he can't: 'Isn't Papa going to put Dean to bed? I haven't seen either of you all day.' Looks like he has been waiting for me.

Guess Dean is getting pretty sick of not seeing his daddies and maybe even feeling pawned off.

"You want Papa to put you to bed?"  
"Yeah." He's already sniffling and a bit weepy. He's exhausted from a long day of fun with Gramma and Grampa.

He drops his toy, his little arms reaching for me; I'm up and pluck him off the floor. Father is unimpressed, but he only rolls his eyes and leaves the room not able to stand all the coddling—as if he isn't guilty of coddling Dean himself. But that's 'Grampa approved coddling' you see. Much different than anything his son—the one's that's his eldest and therefore meant to be his most perfect son, does to coddle _his_ grandson.

I ignore his disapproval in this case and it's easier that it's ever been. Of course I feel the same tug I usually feel, the one arguing that maybe I should take more pages out of his book, but Dean is more important than seeking his approval.

I hope my mother doesn't feel bad; when I check her eyes, I see she doesn't—I should have known better. She loves seeing how much her son is loved by his son.

"He wants his papa, I can handle that son," she says with a wink.  
I'm no fool. "He wants Daddy, but knows he can't have him. Papa is second best—but I don't mind," I say moving his curls out of his eyes, my sleepy baby's head falling into the crook of my neck. And I _really_ don't mind. I love watching Sam and Dean together—it makes me happier than anything else.

"I disagree," Sam says. "I think he does want his papa today." 'We both did,' he leaves unsaid, but I can see it in his eyes. Looks like I was needed around here today, a lot more than I thought.

"Okay. Papa will put Dean to bed—Sam, in the bath."  
Sam ducks his head shyly at being told what to do and I know why—it's turned him on. We're all used to the dynamics of this family and have long gotten over being shy at being given an order. But Sam getting an erection in front of my mother? Yeah that might.

"Yes, Cassy." He kisses Mother goodnight and thanks her; he stops to give Dean a special hug and kiss goodnight, then heads off and I have to distract Dean from watching his daddy walk away.

"You want me to get a bottle for Dean?" She asks.  
"I think we'll do it, won't we Dean?" I say. "But thanks for everything." And I do mean _everything,_ and she knows.

In our family we have something we've nicknamed 'the clouded judgment clause.' It isn't wise to circumvent one's head of house, like my mother did today, but she felt his concern for Sam and, well, all of us really, led to his rash decision to take Dean with them for a few weeks.

Mother being a mother knows that taking Dean from Sam would be the equivalent of taking a babe from his mama. While there are instances where that seems like a good idea—it's usually not. Father will have a hard time seeing that, concerned as he is. And Intervention had to be staged.

Of course when mother approached me, she did in a way that addressed me as head of house—though I am definitely not my mother's. She didn't outright tell me; she asked me what I thought of Father's idea. She already had an inkling I wouldn't like it.

I did not.

It was still a risk on her part. If father found out, there's the potential she could be punished. Technically she is still overriding their rules. But even the most stubborn Heads of Houses realize they're not 'right' one hundred percent of the time. We usually don't figure this out until after the fact, like that day I took Dean to the beach. And when we do, we're begging our partner for forgiveness.

But in this case; it's better Father doesn't find out and we all think it's worth it—for Dean's sake—to participate in this deception.

"Are you going to stay awake long enough to have a bottle, Dean?" I ask him as I carry him to the kitchen.  
"Uh," he says from behind his soother.  
I'm not really sure what that means, but if I'm to measure a guess, I think that's Dean for: 'I'm too tired to answer you Papa, but I want my bottle even if I'm half asleep.'

Dean doesn't pass up chances to eat.

Mother's re-stocked Sam's line-up of bottles, so all I have to do is grab one out of the fridge, but I'm going to warm it a bit. I can feel the baby falling asleep on my hip as I place the glass bottle in hot water; he fights to stay awake, but loses the fight for the few minutes I wait.

But by the time I've got him upstairs, his eyes pop open again. "Dah-dee?" He says, disoriented.

"It's Papa, Dean."  
"Pah-pa?" He says with a little cry and watery eyes.  
"Yeah, it's Papa." I almost say 'not Daddy,' but think better of it; he might start crying for said Daddy.

"We're going to have a bottle. Did Dean forget?"  
He shakes his head into me.  
"No?"  
"No."  
"I know. Dean fell asleep, didn't he?"  
"No."  
I can't help but laugh. Silly boy.

He's in a pair of monkey, footie pajamas Gramma put on him, the cuteness of anything he wears always juxtaposition to his surly face. He dives for his beddy-bye blanket when I give it to him, ripping out his soother and giving it to me, 'cause he knows I've got his bottle ready for him.

"Did Dean have a nice day with Gramma and Grampa?" I speak softly in the dark.  
I can feel his head nodding; he pulls off his bottle. "Mam-mah?"

"Gramma will be here to feed Dean his breakfast in the morning."  
He nods; takes another couple of pulls of milk then pulls off again. "'Pah?"  
"Grampa will be here too—he'll teach you how to sell firearms to monks," I say and chuckle at my own joke that I'm not sure Dean will get.

I know he just wants to make sure they'll still be here in the morning. Satisfied, he returns to sucking his bottle; he's holding it with both hands, making it completely unnecessary for me to be holding the bottom, but I do anyway. He hasn't been a baby all that long, but it's still hard to think of him growing up already and not needing Sam or me.

His beddy-bye blanket is smushed against his torso between his body and the bottle; his eyes flutter closed then open, closed; open. I end up having to sing to him so he'll finally fall asleep.

~SDC~

"Hey, Baby. How was your bath?"  
Sam's in a towel just coming out of our in suite bathroom.  
"Good. The baby go to sleep okay?"  
"The usual."  
"Yeah. Thought I could hear you singing on the monitor. Somewhere over the rainbow?"  
"You caught me." It was my gramma's favorite, hence also my mother's.  
"Feeling sentimental?"  
"A little."

He must still be hopped up on tea. The Sam I spoke to earlier today was a wreck. "Everything work out with my parents, Baby?" I carefully pull him in for a kiss—his bruised torso still looks awful.

He's got a goofy smile on his face; yep, definitely hopped up on tea.

"I really missed you today, Cassy—it was so hard for me not to call you. I tried not to, but then I did and…"

I know it's not really an answer to my question and I should be paying attention to the sweet things he's saying to me, but all I can sense is his growing hard on and mine. Fuck. With Sam I have a one-track mind: Sex. I know he's got his tea running through his system, but I still don't want to chance sex yet. Maybe next week?

"I know Baby, it's okay. You needed me; don't apologize for that."

I pull away, because I cannot be this close to him and not have sex with him, so I head to the bathroom to get ready for bed and maybe tug one out. I feel guilty considering Sam probably can't and is most likely just as blue-balled as I am, but I'm going insane; it can't be helped. Can I claim it's therapy?

"Cas?"  
"Yeah?" I say sheepishly, because I can tell from the lilt in his voice, he knows. He fucking knows what I'm planning.

Instead of chastising me like I think he will, he says: "I'm stroking my cock right now."  
Fuck.

"Baby, don't. Please."  
"Why?"  
"Because I want to pound you into the mattress and I can't right now."

"I can barely feel a thing Cassy, this tea's got me feeling no pain, we can't fuck me, but we could suck me?"

I think about it as I brush my teeth. He's got my attention. I have to listen to him moaning and imagine him stroking since I can't see him.

My cock says: "What's the harm?" My brain, which is beginning to short circuit, says: "Just because he's hopped up on funny tea and can't feel pain, doesn't mean it won't do him harm breathing like he'll breathe if I suck him."

Stupid logical brain.

I finish up in the bathroom and put the sleep pants on that are hanging on the back of the door. "Take your hand off your dick. You shouldn't be touching that anyways—it's mine."

He removes his hand pouting. "Hey, you're dressed."

So as you can guess he's not, dressed that is. I throw sleep pants at him, because I am not sleeping next to naked Sam with blue balls.

"How astute. Get dressed."

"Cas, please. I'm fine—I swear. I need you."  
"That's the tea talking. I do believe I asked you to do something, Samuel."  
He does what I tell him to do, but he mutters something. Did he just? "What was that?"

"Nothing," he snaps.

"Samuel…"

"I said, you sound like your father."

Yep. It's what I thought he said. I'm fairly sure it's the tea talking, so I'll let it go, but not without a reprimand. "You're being incredibly disrespectful. I'm just worried about you."

"Congratulations. You just got rid of my erection. Goodnight."

He gets under the covers and turns off his bedside light. I get quiet; my light's still on.

This isn't Sam. It isn't. It's the tea. Right? Though perhaps spending time with my parents has driven him looney. Is he asking to be punished? He's done that before, but not like this—well, not quite like this. But Father did mention how moody he's been; I thought it was just him being him, but maybe there's something to it.

In any other situation, the answer would be clear-cut; if he'd taken narcotics and acted this way, I'd punish him, no doubt. But these are 'narcotics' he needs; ridiculous as that sounds.

But if I know Sam, and I do, he'll feel like shit over this tomorrow, he'll _need_ to be punished. Damn. Nothing's ever easy.

I don't want to go to bed on an angry note. I ask him something neutral. "Did the Doctor leave you with anything other than tea?" I can't keep the hope out of my voice.

He sniffles. "Yeah."

"Baby, are you crying?"  
"No."

He so is. "Baby, c'mere."  
"I'm okay. I just want to go to sleep." Welcome to Sam shutting down, I'm starting to think it's not the tea. I prod. I know what will get him to talk.

"It's been a rotten day for you—I know."  
"I had to watch my baby from a window, Cas. I accept that I need help, but being confined to our room all day was not helpful." See? He's talking now.

"I know. Look. Tomorrow will be better."  
"Did you talk to him?"  
"No."  
"Then I don't see how it could be better. I can't believe you've done nothing. I can't take weeks and week of this."

I've done everything though, but I can't tell him—it will ruin the surprise. Either way, there's no need for him to be rude. He knows he can always talk to me about what's bothering him, so long as he's respectful. 

"You're going to behave tomorrow." Though I highly doubt it on that tea. "If Father sends you to our room it's your own fault—you know how to avoid that."

"Oh, so it's my fault?"  
"You know it is."  
"That's not what you said on the phone, Cas."  
Crap. Now he thinks I'm taking my father's side and yeah, it looks that way, but what I meant was that he knows how to avoid being reprimanded: Do as told. "I was at work and I recall saying we'd discuss it."  
"Which means it's not my fault."  
"It means no such thing."

He huffs frustrated. "Whatever."

I'm _really_ not a fan of 'whatever' Sam knows.  
And I realize as I think over our conversation, it's not the tea. Not exactly. I think it's loosening his tongue a little, but other than that, it's all him. It's pretty much the same conversation we had earlier, only he was a helluva lot more respectful. This is simply fed-up Sam who's a lot more relaxed about saying things because he's hopped up on tea.

You're going to think I'm the meanest person in the world in a second, but you're just going to have to trust I'm experienced dealing with Sam in this mood.

"You won't have to worry about my father sending you to our room tomorrow."  
"I won't?"  
"No, because I am. Effective now."  
"Cas!"  
"Nope. We're done. You know what to expect when you push me; you got it."  
I know his hands are balled into fists above the sheets, but as much as what I said's going to frustrate him, it's going to relax him on the inside. He can't even help his body's reaction when I use _that_ voice.

I turn my bedside lamp off, then reach out and take one of his balled fists and coax it to soften. "C'mon Darling. Go to sleep—tomorrow will be better. I promise."

That's what I tell him, but it's also for me. I know Sam and Dean were counting on me being a hero today for them and it looks like I've failed them both, but if they can hang on for just a week and a bit they'll see I've still got tricks up my sleeves.

I squeeze Sam's hand and he squeezes back. We fall asleep.

~SDC~

"Dah-dee?" I ask Papa when he comes _sauntering_ into the kitchen _without_ Daddy. We've finally moved back to the kitchen for breakfasts. We've been all formal and shit, but Gramma decided Papa and Daddy don't have to be quite, so formal since they would be staying another week and a bit.

I'm on the floor doing an important task for Gramma. She said she wants me to take all the pots out of the cupboard and put them back by the time she's finished making breakfast. I think she's nuts. It seems like a waste of time, but she made it seem so God damn important I couldn't let her down. The powers she must hold over Grampa if she's got me dancing like a freaking puppet.

"Daddy's not coming downstairs today, Kiddo. He's resting today, okay?"

No. Not okay. Fucking horseshit is what it is.

"No! No! No!" I say waving a small pot at him. Fuck this. I'm going to get him. I take off running, dropping the pot as I go, but I don't make it past Papa. That's okay, I'm not letting up without a fight this time. I kick and scream bloody murder. If you got it, flaunt it, right?

"Dean. Calm down," Papa says in his stern voice.

I will not calm down. "Dah-dee…" I say over and over amidst my crying. "Dah-dee…"  
Papa can barely contain me, so he has to put me down. All that means is that my tantrum has moved locations. I haven't stopped screaming and now I'm banging and kicking the floor. "Oh for the love of… Mother, watch him a second."

Papa leaves, but not for long and returns with Daddy who's in just a housecoat; long hair all mussed up with half of it in this weird static ball. I think Papa pulled him out of bed. He sets eyes on me having a tantrum—let's just call it what it is—but I stop soon as I see Daddy. "What's going on? Cassy?"

My elation at seeing Daddy is short-lived. He sits Daddy in the chair and suddenly everything gets quiet. I do take a chance and make my way over to Gramma for protection and demand to be picked up by way of tugging on the leg of her shorts—she sets me on her hip.

"I will not have disorder in _my_ house," Papa says half-crazed. Grampa actually takes notice and puts the paper down; he takes a sip of his coffee, the corners of his mouth tug. He's amused; Papa doesn't notice.

"Father. Sam is to stay within sight of Dean at all times with the exception of Dean's naptime at which time, Sam will also take a nap. I am in charge of my family and this home. We follow my rules here—when we visit you, we'll follow yours. Understood?"

Grampa gives a curt nod. I doubt Papa can tell, but he looks proud.

He turns on Daddy. "And you. Don't think this means we're done. You and I aren't nearly finished discussing your behavior; we'll talk when I get home and I'd better find out your day was spent resting. You will obey all other directions you are given by Mother and Father. Understood?"

  


"Yes, Cas," Daddy says in a small voice.

Oh crap. I know he's got something to say to me and don't realize I've wormed my way into Gramma's soft chest until Papa's scratching my back. Okay. Time to man up Winchester. I turn my sort of crying face toward him. "Papa's not mad at you Angel. It's not your fault everything's been crazy around here; it's mine. Can you forgive me?"

Papa's asking me to forgive him? I don't really think there's anything he needs forgiving for, but I nod and say, 'yeah' anyway because that's all I can really say and I know it will make him feel better. "Good. You be a good boy for your grandparents and Daddy today. Papa loves you." He gives me a big kiss.

When he's gone, I look up to Gramma and turn my palms up. My look clearly reads: 'What the fuck was that?'

"Papa got his balls back, Dean," she says and I think she's the coolest thing ever.

Gramma says 'balls.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I whole heartedly apologize for cock-blocking. I tried to convince Cas that Sam was all right, but he answered back with a firm 'fuck no' and that 'no one was more disappointed than him.' Not to worry, it can't last. ;-)
> 
> Rib Fracture Tea is a real thing, but its effects in this story are COMPLETELY fictional, in other words: Made up by me and used for my own devices to entertain you. Just thought you should know.


	17. A Country Surprise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Without their usual tools, the system breaks down. But they get it figured out; Sam and Cas always do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to all you wonderful people reading this story. It wouldn't be the same without you. Hope you enjoy!

"C'mon lil Cowboy, it's time to get up."

'Go away, Grampa,' I say in the mumbly way I say almost everything. Grampa thinks we should all get up at the ass-crack of dawn and I want to ask him if he's really a sadistic military General. But unfortunately, my body's getting used to it.

I know they're leaving soon, so I end up indulging him. "Sue?" I say showing it to him. He doesn't really get the game I play with Daddy, so I had to invent a new one for him. He lifts me out.

"That's a sooth- _er_ , Dean, can you say sooth- _er_?"

"Sue," I say stubbornly. The 'th' sound is really fucking hard to say. But Grampa's right. Shouldn't I be able to say shit like that by now? This not talking thing is getting really irritating.

"Hmmm…" Grampa says like Papa as he lays me down on the change table. I have to give Grampa props, for a dude that's never changed a diaper in his life, he's become a pro. "Well go'on and put it in your mouth then."

I thought he was going to scold me. He does sometimes, but I forgive him and try not to be scared. Gramma told me in secret that Grampa knows practically nothing about babies and that we have to teach him.

When I have a new diaper on, Grampa puts me down on the ground and gets my clothes after. He thinks it's better I eat naked on account of it being more efficient. "No use in getting a set of clothes dirty," he declared when he saw how messy I got after breakfast even with a bib.

Daddy did not like that, but he didn't say anything. Grampa isn't as tolerant with Daddy as he is of me.

I take his hand and we walk together downstairs. Grampa sets my clothes to the side and lifts me in my highchair.

"Dah-dee!" I say when I see him. He doesn't look so good, but he's got a big smile for me anyway.

"Hey, Bug."

"Owwie, Dah-dee?" I ask like I do every morning. Papa isn't here, so it falls to me to look after Daddy. Gramma and Grampa try to, but even though they've known him longer, they don't know him like I do.  
"I'm okay Sweetheart. You just have fun today with Gramma and Grampa, okay?"

I want to have fun with him, but Gramma and Grampa won't let him do anything.

"Well there he is. Good morning Dollface!"

"Mam-mah," I say and she knows that also means good morning. She kisses my cheek.

"So Sam, we're leaving in a few days, but I've got couple of appointments set for some potential Sunday schools. I thought I'd bring Dean by today, maybe he could meet the kids."

Daddy tenses up. I can read him pretty well now; he wants to say 'no' but knows he get in trouble. I say it for him. "No."

"Now, Dean—do you think you should tell your grandmother, no?"

Grampa is using a voice that's a lot less scary than he used to use, but it still makes me pause. "No," I say again, anyways.

"We've got to, I say we've got to make sure Dean understands he can't talk to his elders like that Claire."

Daddy looks mad now.

I reach my hands out for the bottle Grampa made for me.

"You're right, Clyde. But he's too little to understand yet."

"I don't think he is. I know y'all have told me that time and time again, but I think he understands more than y'all think."  
Grampa's accent tends to get a bit thicker when he's making a point. "Y'all coddle him."

"Right, Clyde Winchester, because you don't coddle him at all?"

"He knows there are firm lines with Grampa."

"Oh? It's Grampa now?" Gramma teases. Grampa keeps trying to get me to call him Grandfather—but I'm sticking to 'Pah. Nobody seems to understand that I just can't talk. I think I know why, and if I'm right there's a certain demon I plan on skinning alive (if Demon's are alive) soon as I'm able… whenever that is. I've slowly been coming to the conclusion that whatever funky-ass Modlenol crap he used on me not only 'de-aged' me, but has succeeded in halting my growth. But perhaps 'halt' is not the right word, more like 'slowed.'

I'm not worried that I won't grow, but I am worried about how long I'll stay in any one phase of development. He said it would take more time. It seems to be affecting me slightly more physically than mental and emotionally.

Grampa harumphs at Gramma's teasing, but he doesn't say anything, instead he runs a hand through my hair.

"You know Mother, Cas and I would really like to pick Dean's Sunday school."

"Oh… Well, I… Right. I'm sorry Sam." Gramma's face falls, crushed. Shit. Grampa's going to kill Daddy.

"You never mind, Claire. Samuel, apologize. It's awfully nice of Claire to go through the trouble for you."

Daddy doesn't look like, as Grampa would say, he's fixing to apologize.

"If I'd asked someone to go through the trouble, it would be nice, but I didn't. We would like to pick Dean's Sunday School, I thought Cas had already made that clear? If you have a problem with that then I suggest you take it up with your son."

Whoa! Daddy's awesome this morning! I want to laugh, but I'd better not.

"Well of all the… I've never… Go to your room, Samuel." Grampa's speechless.

"Gladly." Daddy comes over to kiss me. "Daddy will see you later, Pumpkin."

~SDC~

"Coffee," I say to my assistant. "Strong."

"You sure I shouldn't just jump straight to the hard stuff, sir?"

I stare at the long list of calls I've got this morning, all from the members of my household, which is slowly falling apart. Maybe James' right.

Truth is I've been hiding at the office. Just because I'd declared and defined the rules for my home for everyone, doesn't mean I'd figured out a way to actually keep everyone in line. I'd never even attempted to keep my parents in line. And the only way I have at current for Sam is lines, which I know he hates, and they don't do much for him except piss him off. It's kind of like poking a bear—but they do make him think twice _and_ let him know I'm displeased. Because I am. He's really not helping the situation—if he could just hold on three more damn days.

I'd given him his first set when we'd had our first of many 'discussions.'

 _'Whatever is not an appropriate response to my husband. Ever. I will endeavour to exhibit tact and respect when addressing my husband, since he in turn only addresses me with tact and respect. Furthermore, he always has my well-being in mind and I trust him. My flippant tongue disparages the love and respect on which our relationship is founded. When in doubt, say yes, sir."_ Two hundred times with no spelling mistakes.

That last little bit is me being a bit cheeky. Long story short, the first time we'd stayed with my parents as a married couple (him as an official Winchester) he was terrified he'd fuck up somehow—when we were only dating, he wasn't subject to the 'Winchester Way,' and knew coming to my parent's house would be a different experience for him. 

I took him through all the paces, so he'd be prepared, but he was still nervous as hell, so I told him: "When in doubt, say yes, sir."

I may have been a little ticked at 'whatever,' he knows how much I hate that, in the bratty way he used it.

I sigh and call my husband.

"What in the hell happened, Samuel?"

He tells me everything and I want to fucking punch something. What I'm hearing is there's a new fire at home to put out.

"You know she's just trying to help. I'm disappointed, Sam. We've already talked about this--you're reading too much into it, they're just concerned for their grandson."

"Figures you'd side with them. Forget I called."

"Sam," I warn.

"Whatever, Cas. See you later." He hangs up.

I'm going to kill him. I'm going to kill my husband.

I call Father next. It's the usual from him, but I'm firm this time. "He's having a hard time, Father. You know I can't discipline him like he needs. Tell him to come out of our room, _I_ will deal with him when I come home."

Father's pissed at me now.

I wait for Mother to call back and tell James to put her through no matter what I'm doing. It's better her and I talk when she can speak to me privately. "Honey, I'm sorry. I know you wanted to choose his school, but you two worried me with your talk of waiting 'till he was a little older. I thought, if I just found the right school, you'd see Dean would like it and how good it was for him."

"I know Mother. You don't need to apologize."

"I cancelled everything." She sounds heartbroken.

"I'll talk to Sam Mother, perhaps I can talk him around to it, but let's wait 'till he's better, okay?"

"Okay, Castiel."

I hang up and put my head on my desk. I wonder how Dean's doing with all this chaos.

James sticks his head in. "You ready for that whiskey, sir?"

You know… "One shot, neat."

It burns sweetly going down, and it does the trick. I don't have anymore, even if I want to; I'm going to need my wits about me to take on all three… possibly four when I get home, but if they want to challenge me, I'm ready for them.

~SDC~

Cas can't spank me, so he's decided on lines. Yeah. _Lines._

I was livid when he'd first announced that he would be issuing lines to punish me. Others may feel spanking is a little kid punishment, but as I'm sure you'd already agree, the spankings he gives me are _not_ meant for little kids. He would never give that kind of spanking to our son. My spankings are therefore 'grown-up' spankings.

But lines? That's for little kids.

I'd even rather have 'corner-time' than lines, but he won't do that either claiming it's still too physical. Writing lines, I'd be sitting; he feels corner-time is only effective done standing. I'm not sure I agree, but I don't make the rules I'm reminded very curtly.

I'm also reminded that if I don't want to write lines, I don't have to. Translation: Just behave yourself and you won't be punished.

Right. Easy for him to say.

I actually begged him to take me to work with him one day. I told him I'd sit in the office and read; Dean could have the day with Gramma and Grampa. Yeah. How desperate am I if I'm willing to leave Dean's side?

But I'm starting to think it's better than not being able to do anything with him. It's like having a really good piece of chocolate cake in front of you and not being able to eat it.

Cas refused to bring me to work claiming he would be distracted. He also told me I was being what I would call a 'negative Nelly.' Yeah. He used my own epithet against me. Basically, he thinks my attitude stinks and maybe it does, but aren't I a little entitled?

If we didn't have Dean, I would love Cas' overprotective behavior, but with Dean I a little bit wish it would go away. I'm feeling a lot better. The stuff Dr. Shaggy gave me has worked wonders and though I know my ribs are not yet fully healed, I _know_ I could do more with my son, but Cas gets final say on that; he's still too concerned for me and won't budge.

And that's the other problem: Cas' parents.

They've come in and changed our whole routine and it irks me. It's not the way I do things; I prefer my mama's style to Clyde Winchester's militant ways.

They're great with Dean, they really are. Dean is loving having grandparents; I'm glad about that.

But I'm jealous okay? Not of their relationship. Never. I just feel like a useless outsider. I'm not 'allowed' to join in the fun. I'm not 'allowed' to pick him up. I'm not 'allowed' to change his diapers. I'm not 'allowed' to put him down for naps.

They 'let' me feed him and that's it.

So when I see them play together, yeah, I'm jealous because I want to play too. I want to look after my boy too. Not instead of. I don't mind them looking after him at all, so long as I'm not left out.

Oh. And let's not forget all of their 'helpful' suggestions. Which I also don't mind; so long as they would say them as real 'suggestions' rather than something they expect us to do.

Like with the whole Sunday school business. Of course we've planned on it, like my mama and daddy did with me and all my siblings; like Clyde and Claire did with Cas and Cas' siblings—but apparently I should have already been looking and have him enrolled somewhere; in the very least be taking him to church.

The Winchester's believe it teaches little boys discipline. After all, if little boys and girls see other adults as well as other little boys and girls behaving themselves in church, they will model that behavior—all their children did.

Not only do I disagree, but I read their sentiments as: Dean is out of control and we're bad parents for raising such an out of control brat.

When I told Cas, he took their side. He told me I was reading too much into it; they didn't mean it like that; they were only concerned for their only grandson.

Right. So they have cause to be concerned. Why again? Because we must be doing _something_ wrong?

And it's like nails on a chalkboard when I have to listen to the 'Winchester way' of dealing with Dean's tantrums and back chat. And apparently, after less than two weeks, Grampa Winchester is suddenly an expert on babies and I know absolutely _nothing_ about children.

I'm the eldest of fourteen. _Fourteen!_

Now I do realize having your own is different, I can see that now, but the child-rearing experiences I've garnered in looking after my younger siblings, has equipped me fairly well I'd say and I do not appreciate being critiqued every five seconds.

I've been told my whole life how good I am with kids, but now I feel like a huge failure.

Once again, my dear husband told me during our huge fight, that I was making a mountain out of a molehill. His parents were not insinuating that I was a huge failure, or that I'm not good with children, they were just expressing their concern based on their own child-rearing practices.

Again I say: Why the concern? He's still a baby. I know plenty about putting a little one in his place, but Dean's too little to really scold yet. Besides, I've already proven myself proficient; I did a fantastic job with Dean when he was older—it feels funny to say that, but _you_ know what I mean.

I kept my mouth shut, I swear I did. For days. I bit the inside of my lip so hard it bled a few times, but I'm only human, I reached my ceiling. I'd spoke up to Mother Winchester.

Consequently, when Father Winchester began to chastise me, yet again, and for something I felt inaccurate, I told him off too. _Right in front of Dean._

Yeah. Cas was pissed.

Dean was impressed.

It didn't end there for me, I go big, or go home when I go off. Cas and I fought too.

I learned that Cas had been somewhat hesitant to punish me, because he thought the tea was influencing my behavior, but when he saw I could indeed control myself even on the tea, he knew my freak out was all me.

At least the tea made it so I wasn't anxious all day waiting for Cas to come home. Once again, I feel it necessary to remind the audience at home that I'm not scared of Cas, but I knew well the disappointed look I would see on his face and the subsequent disappointed tone of voice he would use paired with that look as he lectured me.

Fiddlesticks.

I've kept my head low since and have managed to keep my opinions to myself, but I've been told that's not okay either. Cas calls it the 'Sam Shut Down.'

So, no spankings just lines. Lines don't work well for my psyche and Cas knows, but he says he's willing to 'overlook' that at the moment because he needs some way to punish me if just for his own sanity. He says one of us needs to keep our head, because apparently I'm not. Not to mention the old adage of _if I want to act like a child, he's got cause to treat me as such._

In any case it is a really good deterrent.

I've barely made it to the end of two weeks, but I have. I know I sound ungrateful toward Cas' parents when I know perfectly well we needed them. They sort of, popped up at the right time. Of course I would have rather it have been my mama and daddy, but there's just no way my mama could leave and Daddy won't leave without Mama.

She's still got a ten-year-old, a set of twelve-year-old twins and four teenagers at home to take care of and they're all in school. Not to mention, she looks after many of her other grandbabies. I think Dean is grandbaby number twelve.

I'm bitterly working on a new set of lines at the moment. And I've being sent to bed; _sent to bed_ early, 'specially so I could complete them. I wanted to argue with Cas about that, but the look on his face made it clear arguing would be pointless.

So, I said polite goodbyes to the Winchesters who are leaving on a late plane tonight. I did thank them sincerely; they were a huge help and I am grateful. I feel bad for the way I've been acting, but this is exactly why Cas and I have the relationship we do. Think I'm messed up if you want; I don't function well without it. I literally _need_ to be spanked.

_"I am a Winchester and will abide by Winchester civilities. It is poor decorum to treat one's elders with such disrespect; I will take a breath and remember who I am and who I am accountable to next time instead of choosing to react. And since it wasn't clear the first time, 'whatever' is not an acceptable phrase to use with my husband, ever. It's childish and if my husband ever hears it again, he will think he needs to pull out his cane to make his impression felt."_

Yeah, not my best move. I'm lucky I've got broken ribs, or Cas probably would've pulled out that thing.

I let out a sigh and shake my hand to work out the cramps and finish the last one. Then I check for spelling errors—yes he is that anal. I'm giving it a second go through, since I did find a few errors on the first round, when Cas walks in.

It's rare for me not to want to see Cas, but lightening can still strike twice.

"Hey, Baby. You done?"  
"Yes, sir."  
"What's with all the formalities? I don't see a collar around your neck."  
"When in doubt use yes, sir."

"And yet flippancy is still possible when using terms of respect, I see." He gives me _that_ look, the one I hate—I can't seem to do anything right these days—before moving off to remove his tie; thus ignoring me and showing his displeasure by the sheer dark energy radiating off him.

I go back to looking over my work wanting to hand it in to Cas, hoping that will make up for being such a… well, a brat.

I didn't think I was prone to brat behavior, but it seems, I go long enough without a spanking and here I am.

I get so involved with my work that when Cas approaches me I jump at the sound of his voice. He's wearing nothing but a pair of black boxer briefs. "I didn't mean to scare you, Baby. Are you done with those?"

"Oh, uh, yeah, I mean, yes Cas."  
He nods and takes them from me; he looks them over. "Good," he says after several painstaking moment. "Very good."

"Is Dean asleep?" I don't have the monitor on yet. I didn't want to be distracted while I finished.

"Mother is putting him to bed. They'll leave a couple hours after that."

As usual, he's polite, respectful Cas, but his words seem cold; _forced._ I don't think he wants to talk to me much either. The despair I feel knowing that tears me apart.

I watch him walk away; he moves over to our special cupboard. My entire body tingles.

"We both know lines are not working for you; I want to try something different tonight. I'm going to collar you Samuel, would you be okay with that?"

Those are the best words I've heard in weeks; I'm still surprised. "Yes, Cas. Please, _please._ "

He's stone quiet as he retrieves what he needs and sets in on the table beside our special cupboard and still quiet when he stands behind me and secures the thick, black collar around my neck.

"No kneeling. Stay in that chair. Comfortable."

"Yes, Castiel."

~SDC~

I've almost told him my plan—several times.

He's become a complete and total brat. He's not really the 'brat-type' except sometimes when we first… began stuff. That's vague. I know. But it's been tumultuous with Sam and I. We've been pretty much attached at the hip since five, but it was some time before we were officially in a relationship.

Suffice to say the 'brat' in him doesn't show often, but it has been lately and has taken hold.

I normally don't mix 'brat' and 'sub,' but for Sam there is a little crossover and I'm going to capitalize on that because I think I've finally concocted a way to soothe him, without hurting him.

Between you and me, I didn't tell Sam my father's true intentions to take Dean home with them. I will. But the time isn't right; he isn't in a good place.

My mother knew, but had called me after I'd talked with Sam. Since I'd cleared things up with my father on where Dean would be staying, it was never mentioned again and must have fled Sam's mind with everything else that's been going on. All for the best. I think Sam would've gone mama bear on Father and there's already been some decent arguments between the two.

"Do you remember the first lesson I taught you?"

"Obedience, Castiel."

"Good, boy. I'm going to do some things and you're going to be obedient, aren't you Baby?"

"Yes, Castiel."

"Undress for me, so I can see that lovely cock of yours; I'm going to watch it get hard and watch you sit still listening to my every word as I do whatever I want. Be mindful of your injuries." I know—that's not sexy, but he's going to have to deal.

He does, careful like I've asked; stifling a groan. He knows me well enough to know there will be no cumming in the near future for him. He's still excited.

I make sure to praise him again when he sits like I've asked. His cock looks about as hard as mine, large and heavy. This isn't the longest we've been without sex, but it's a long time for us.

The bruised skin is better, but still discolored. All in all, it's not bad; much better than it was anyway.

I go over to pick up the crop I took out. Don't worry, I'm not going to hit him with it, but hopefully you know I've got his best interests in mind by now. I use it to run along his neck and over the 'good' side of his torso, he starts squirming.

"Here are the rules. You are to tell me if you are in pain from your injury," I instruct. "If I at anytime think you aren't being truthful about your pain level, you won't be cumming at all tonight; but I will and I'll make you watch, continue to tease you and send you to bed unsatisfied—I may do that anyway. You haven't been very well behaved, have you, Baby?"

"No. I haven't Castiel."

"Good. I'm glad we agree. There's one more rule. You're not allowed to move—the only exception being if it is a discomfort due to your injury, in which case I want you to say, 'yellow.' Keep your hands glued to those armrests. I'm not going to bind you, but I am going to blindfold you. Do you understand the rules?"

"Yes, Castiel."

"Good, boy."

I blindfold him and let him wait for a full five minutes before I touch him again with the riding crop. I could have used a feather, or something 'nice' for this, but I use the riding crop on purpose. It's what it signifies. Sam will know.

I can see he's already uncomfortable, but not due to his ribs, his cock looks painfully hard.

"First you will earn my touch with my hand. You don't deserve my hand right now, but you know what you especially don't deserve?"

"Your cock, sir," he says already panting as I drag the riding crop down his good side and to his crotch.

"That's right." I hit him. Not hard of course, just light taps to his balls, but that's all they need. He needs to trust me to give him what he needs; that's the name of this game, that's what we lack, because I can't take care of him properly, we slowly lose the connection: But it's never forgotten. We can fix it.

The taps to his cock are already making him leak, but he stays still; he's controlled, he's beautiful.

After teasing him with my riding crop and making him want to squirm for a long while, I toss it to the side. "Good, boy. See? You can be a good boy for me. I'm going to touch you now. You've earned it."

This is where it gets worse for him. I start at his neck, where Sam is especially sensitive. I feel him tense up because I know all he wants to do is lean into the fingers that caress his skin. But he needs to do what I say; he knows it. "That's good, Baby, but relax. I've got you."

It takes him a slow ragged breath, but he does let go and I move light fingers down his back and around to the front to play with his nipples. He stifles a moan. "I don't believe silence was in the rules. I want to hear you, Baby. I love it when you moan." It's true. His moans go straight to my cock.

I can see his body settling in and already giving himself over to me. I trail down his perfect abs to the top of his groin and play there for a little while never touching his cock, but making out like I'm going to. "Oh God, Cassy…"

Normally I'd slap him hard for that, but I can't. Instead I take my hand away. He knows why and he knows to be silent. His fingers move slightly like they want to ball up, but he prevents them doing so. "Hmmm… Looks like I've got an unruly pet; I guess I'll just have to touch myself." I can practically see the 'no' on the tip of his brain, but he doesn't say it. I remove his blindfold.

I grab the bottle of lube, pour a generous amount on my hand and stand directly in front of him. I pull out my heavy cock and begin to stroke it. "You were five seconds away from this being you, but you couldn't behave yourself, could you?"

"I'm sorry, Castiel." He puts his head down.

"Ah, ah, ah. Look at me Samuel."

He brings his head up. "That's better. Watch." I continue to pump the shaft, fucking my own hand and it looks painful to sit still like he is. I do check in with his eyes to make sure that pain isn't his injury and he gives a very subtle headshake. As much as I know him, there's a level of trust I have to operate from. I have to trust him to tell me if he's in another kind of pain and he will, or I truly will be angry with him.

But for now we're good, so I torture on. "This feels good, don't you wish it was you, touching my cock? Sucking it? Stroking it?"

"Y-y-es, Castiel."

"Hmmm… Me too." I pump harder and faster until my cock explodes all over my hand. He was very good the whole time I masturbated—it's hard for Sam to stay still and watch me play with myself—I reward him by smearing my cum over his chest. And by crouching down to his groin and swallowing his cock whole. I had planned on teasing him a lot longer, but even I'm having trouble resisting him; he must be going crazy inside, but he sits still and good and perfect.

He takes a deep, sharp breath. "Fudge. Yellow."

I pop my mouth off his cock and he looks at me with regret filled eyes. Everyone runs this next part differently when they play, for us a yellow momentarily suspends things—it's more of a check in, but it's my call to end play on this one. If Sam wanted to end play, he would have said 'red.' A yellow, leaves it up to me by our protocol.

"I'm okay, Cas—really, please, _please_ don't stop doing that. I just took a sharp breath and it hurt. I just needed a moment."

I look him over and decide if _I_ think he's okay. I smile at him, but it's not a nice smile. "Okay, Baby. Remember that you wanted to keep going."

I go slower this time, so there's no need for him to take sharp breaths and I lavish his cock with my tongue. He's panting and moaning and basically being driven mad. That's when the begging starts. "Please, c-can I cum, Castiel?"

He knows it's too soon to ask.

"What do you think?"

He winces and bites his lip and continues to play his game of solitaire in his head—yeah, that's what Sam does when I won't let him cum. There's a few things he does, he's told me about, but he gets a certain look in his eye when he's playing imaginary solitaire.

I give him a small reprieve, but only so I can grab some more lube, I thread my slick finger into his hole. "Oh God… oh fuck…"

Victory. When I can get Sam to swear, I know he's truly losing it. So I pump slower and periodically suck his cock. I don't know what card game he's on at this point, but whatever it is, he's losing. I stop.

He's panting, but he looks okay. I kept my pace relatively easy for us; but I know it's been a little while—quiet you, two weeks is awhile for us.

He looks like he wants to cry. "You're going to be a good boy next time, aren't you? Else I'll do this to you every night before bed and you won't be cumming." I can always milk Sam to relive his balls. It isn't very nice considering it's all the torture without the relief.

"Yes, Castiel."

I squeeze his nuts, just this side of too hard, only enough for him to know I mean it. "And every line you write will have something to do with your husband's big beautiful cock that will off limits to you, am I understood?"

"Yes, Castiel."

"Good." I release his balls. "Take your time and make your way to the bed. Lie on your back. I'm going to truss you up so you don't have to bear the weight of your legs and you're going to spend the next hour and a half convincing me first why I should give you my cock and next why I should allow you to cum."

~SDC~

"Mam-mah, guh-on?"  
"That's right, Doll. It's time for your grandfather and I to go home."

I'm torn. I don't want them to go, but I know Daddy does. And Daddy's still not better; who's going to look after me? I've realized I'm a lot of work and not just anyone's up for that kinda job. I'm convinced that's why it's a requisite for babies to be so cute.

I put my arms around her neck and snuggle into her; Gramma has a special smell.

"Awww Clyde, look at him."

"It ain't, I say it ain't right. No one told me having a grandchild was like this. I don't want to leave him, Claire."

Grampa likes me too. I'm pretty sure I'm his favorite person in the whole world.

I come out of my Gramma hidey-hole to look up at Grampa. "'Pah?"

"Come here Cowboy." He takes me from Gramma and lifts me into the air; he brings me in for a kiss to my cheek, since I've got my soother.

"We've had our fun Clyde—they'll come visit soon. Won't you Doll?" I think she's just trying to be brave and made Grampa feel better; her eyes aren't smiling.

"Yeah," I say nodding.

"Maybe we should buy a house here Claire. We could stay in town more often and not be such a nuisance. Did you see Sam go off? That boy was like a bomb!" Grampa laughs.

It was pretty funny to see Daddy flip out; I've never seen him lose his cool like that; it was awesome. He was like a chipmunk on speed. Papa was mad. Daddy wasn't happy that day; I think he misses me, even though I'm right there. I know the feeling; I miss him too.

"Clyde," Gramma scolds and takes me back from him.

But Grampa continues right on with his first thought. "If we bought a house here, we could buy Dean that horse I was talking about and I could teach him to ride

When I took him to see my car, he went back to this horse idea. He said he couldn’t compete with my car; it was special in too many ways.

"I just know you'll like it Dean. You'll be like a real cowboy—your papa was one for a little while."

"You hated when he was a cowboy."

"I didn't hate that he was a cowboy—it was just high time for him to give it up and take over the family business is all."

"Right."

He ignores her sarcasm. "That sound good Dean? We'll get a house here and you can see us all the time; I'll teach you to ride."

I laugh thinking about the look on Daddy and Papa's face when they make that announcement; he thinks I'm laughing because of the horse, which encourages him to talk about it more.

Gramma notices when I start rubbing my eyes. "It's this little boy's bedtime. Do you want to rock him, Grampa?"

"Claire… but it's your last night… you sure?"

"It's not my last night. I _will_ see my only grandchild again. Soon." She kisses my head.

"Okay then. Gimme." I'm given back to Grampa—they tend to play 'Dean-football' a lot.

Gramma kisses me all over before giving me back. "I've enjoyed meeting you Dollface. You be a nice boy for your daddies. And in the morning I want you to look by the chair. Grampa and I have something we're going to leave for you. Okay?"

It better not be a horse Gramma. "Yeah," I say.

"Okay." She gives me a last round of Gramma kisses, but I notice she's got a tear strolling down her face.

"Oh Claire, honey…"

"I'm just fine now, going to miss him is all."

"I'm buying a house!" Grampa declares. "Soon as we're back, I'm calling the realtor!" Grampa really doesn't like Gramma to cry.

That makes her laugh—thank Christ. Gramma crying was making me want to cry.

When she leaves, Grampa knows now to grab my blanket (we taught him a few things); he picks up the bottle Gramma left on the dresser; I give him my soother and we settle into the rocking chair. "Tonight I'm going to tell you a story about a horse—your horse in fact. He'll be black as night, just like your car…"

Oh brother. Grampa won't rest 'till I have a horse. But his voice is nice and rumbly like Papa's and he can go on for ages… The combo puts me to sleep easy.

~SDC~

Cas is coming in the door of our bedroom as I'm opening my eyes in the morning. It's the weekend and he's home for two whole days. Last night was… Wow. It was hard, so fudging hard to keep still all that time and it had nothing to do with my injury.

Other than the one hiccup, my injury was fine, since Cas thought of everything.

We have slings we can hang over our bed; he was able to comfortably hang my legs, wide so he could have his cock enter me smooth and slow. He couldn't pound me like he usually does, but I didn’t need him too. It didn't take him long to have me cumming all over my stomach.

Then I cried.

I apologized over and over. Cas held me best he could and I poured out everything I'd been holding in, like I would have if he'd spanked me. It was so freeing and I felt a thousand times better.

The best part being I feel okay today. I'm finally healed to a point we can do a small amount of physical stuff—so long as we're careful. I don't think I could have taken much more than that—but did I need it. And I feel awful about this visit with the Winchester's. I still standby my feelings, I don't like their criticisms and 'helpful' parenting suggestions, but I could have handled my reactions a lot better.

Cas told me not to worry and that they understood. He'd said: "In fact, Baby, I swear he got a kick out of your freak out."

"Where were you Cassy?" I say when he comes in with a mug for me.

"Just had to make a phone call, and get you this. How you feeling this morning, Baby?"

A phone call at this time of the morning? That's a little unusual. "Way more like me. Thanks for last night."

He hands me a mug of my 'special' tea smiling victoriously. "Why don't you drink that then we'll go get the baby? Do you think he's awake?" He adds sarcastically. We can both hear Dean's attempts at singing on the monitor. I can picture him rolling around playing with his soother.

I take the tea from him. And yeah, he gets up way too early now, thanks to Gramma and Grampa Winchester and their ideas on when a house should be 'up and at'em.' "You sure I'm up for that task—that I won't break?" Even after last night, I'm still a _little_ resentful about the way things have gone with Dean the past two weeks. I agree that I shouldn't be lifting him, but well, you know the rest of the story…

"I can't wait 'till I can spank you again," is Cas' reply.

I smile at that. "Me too Cassy. Me too."

When I'm finished. I toss on some sleep pants and a housecoat and almost run to Dean's room. He's stopped his singing and is standing, looking out of his crib and pointing.

"Uh!" _Look Daddy!_ "Mam-mah." He points to the large box, which is wrapped in colorful paper.

"Did Gramma leave that for you?"  
"Yeah." He's nodding frantically.

I expect the box to be a lot less quiet than it is. "Let's get your diaper changed real quick and we'll see what it is." I know what it is of course; Gramma and Grampa ran it by Daddy and Papa, thankfully. They have a tendency to just 'do things,' and I have a bad feeling Dean's going to become the owner of a horse in the near future.

I'm about to lift him out, but Dean looks to Papa, who's come in behind us, to make sure it's okay—even Dean's become ultra protective of me. I laugh at him, he's too cute.

"I think Daddy's okay to lift you a little bit now, so long as he's slow and careful and you don't wriggle too much, okay Kiddo?" Papa says to him.

Dean nods, but he looks unsure and I hate that—I'm going to make sure I never get injured again. I lift him carefully and don't feel a thing with the tea already working its magic, but I'm still careful knowing I'm not fully healed yet.

When Dean sees I'm okay, he's appeased and smiles. "Daddy's getting better, huh, Sugarbug?"

"Yeah."

I lay him on the change table and he remembers his surprise. His eyes are wide as quarters as he looks over and points and continues to chatter to me about it. "Mam-mah?"

"Yeah, baby. Gramma left that for you."

"'Pah?"

"And Grampa too."

"Dean?"

"Yep. It's just for Dean."

I've missed this. I take his cute little foot and blow a raspberry on it for no reason other than I'm excited to be looking after my little boy again. He squeals and laughs.

When he's all changed _and dressed_ I set him on the ground. He gets excited to see his papa. "Pah-pah!" He says running to hug his leg.

Cas picks him up and throws him in the air just a little. "'Morning, Kiddo. Should we see what your surprise is?"

"Yeah."

Cas sets him back on the ground.

I tired to convince Claire to give Dean his surprise before they left, so they could see the look on his face—I know I want to see it—but she insisted this be done in the morning when they'd gone. I don't really understand her rationale, but it's her surprise, so I'd let it be.

He points to the box to make sure. "Mam-mah?"

"Go ahead Dean Bean, Gramma wants you to open it now. You need Daddy to help you?"

I already know the answer I'm going to get. "No."

Gramma knew Dean would want to open it himself too; she made the box 'Dean-friendly,' all he has to do is lift the wrapped lid.

It's still a bit tricky for him. It's a large box. The lid isn't heavy, just awkward for a little boy, but we wait as long as it takes, watching him grunt and struggle, but knowing he'll scream if we try to help. Cas and I look at each other and shake our heads at our stubborn boy.

He does get it off though and it's a little anti-climatic. I expected her to jump out of the box at Dean, but she's fast asleep. "Look inside, Dean Bean."

I grab him by the waist and lift him, so he can see over the lip of the large box. When he spots what's inside, and then sees her move; he jumps, which tweaks my injury just a little. I recover quick and pull him to me.

The sleepy puppy, finally wakes up with a giant yawn, not having to take the same time us 'humans' seem to have to and she's jumping up her golden paws on the box and looking at Dean and me.

The look on Dean's face is clear: _'What the heck Daddy?'_

I laugh. "It's a doggy. Just for you baby boy." Well and for me, since I'll be doing most of the looking after.

"Gog?" Dean tries and I have to bite my lip to prevent myself from laughing at the cute pronunciation.

"Yep. A dog."

Cas lifts her out. "Looks like we interrupted her beauty sleep."

But she doesn't seem to care and is getting a whole lot livelier by the second; she's becoming a golden bag of worms, wriggling around and wagging her little tail. "You want to see her Dean?" I'm not sure if he's scared of her or not, she is as big as he is, but most likely stronger. He'd never admit it if he was scared.

"Yeah."

I put him down and she barrels straight for him and he falls to his butt. My heart skips a little beat like every parent's does when they think their little one is possibly hurt and about to scream.

But when he let's out a huge squeal of delight attached to a giggly laugh, I know he's fine.

I crouch down behind him, just in case he needs help from the onslaught of puppy licking. He's trying to pet her, but now that's she's completely awake, she's a bundle of energy and Dean can barely get a hand to her. "Gog, Dah-dee!" He says still squealing and laughing.

"I know, Pumpkin Butter. She's cool, huh?" She's an eight-week-old Golden Retriever Grampa found as soon as Gramma had the idea. As hard as Father Winchester is, he does bend over backwards for his wife and now Dean apparently. His children, which includes me, get the brunt of his hardness.

"Yeah."

Cas does his best to wrangle her away from the baby, but she only wants Dean; she already knows who her boy is.

"We'll have to find a name for her, huh Dean?" Cas says.

"Gog."

"You can't call such a pretty girl, Dog," Cas says.

I laugh. It's probably 'cause it's all he can say. Cas picks up the wriggly puppy; she starts licking his face.

"We'll find something that suits together, Pumpkin."

"Gog," Dean says pointing and smiling only this time it means, _look at my puppy Daddy!_

"I think that was hit. Should we phone Gramma tonight, Kiddo?" Cas says.

"Yeah."

"C'mon family, let's go down and find breakfast and I'm sure puppy will need to pee. Poor thing's been in that box all night."

Here we go. Cas loves animals. I do too, but not quite like Cas, which is the only reason we hadn't got one 'till now. It would be home with me all day, which I'm fine with, but Cas didn't see the point in getting himself a dog for me to look after. But now with Dean, we've got the excuse he needed.

"Gramma put plenty of holes, Papa." I don't want Cas' concerns to worry Dean, but already worried over the newest member of the Winchester home, he misses my cues completely.

"Still may not have been enough. I think that's why she must have been so sleepy. Lack of oxygen."

Thankfully Dean looks too interested in staring at his puppy to worry about what his daddies are saying. "All right dog whisperer, lead the way."

~SDC~

Cas carries the puppy and I carry Dean; Cas has a goofy smile on his face I can't figure out. I know he was excited about the puppy and he loved Dean's reaction, but I know my husband—that smile means something else.

So that's what I'm thinking about when I walk into the kitchen, which is why I have to do a double take. I can only see them from behind, but right away I know the three blonde heads, who are moving behind the counter; it all kicks into place.

"Mama?" I scream almost dropping Dean, almost, but I don't.  
"Sammy?" She turns around; huge smile on her face. "Well I haven't seen you in a month a Sundays! Let me look at you Sugar!"

"Mama!" I practically run to her and put my free arm around Mama and hope she doesn't squeeze me too hard on that side.

"And this must be my latest grandbaby Dean. I've heard all about you—I've got a few of you."

If I thought Dean was looking at his surprise from Gramma Winchester wide-eyed this morning, that's _nothing_ compared to how he's staring at Mama. He's mesmerized. He's suddenly gone completely 'baby' on her.

"This is Nana Colt, Dean. You wanna say hello?"

From the way he's acting, I expect him to be shy and curl into me, but he doesn't; he dives for her.

With practiced expertise, she grabs him. He's staring at her like she's the best thing in the world. He looks back at me and points to her. "Mama?"

"Yes that's Daddy's mama Dean. Can you say Nana, like we practiced?" Now he gets shy, but he curls into _her._

"Would you look at that?" I say, shocked. I know Mama's got a special something with children, but… "He likes you already Mama." And I already know he's going to be Nana's little kling-on while she's here—all her grandbabies end up stuck to her hip.

"Go'on now, say hi to everyone else while I get acquainted with Dean, here."

Everyone?

Right. I'd been so focused on Mama, I'd already forgot about the other two. But's two's not all she brought. I look around the kitchen. We've got Lulu who's ten now, Lily Faye and Hunter the little twins both twelve, Caroline, fourteen (one of the blonde heads I saw), Jamie—fifteen, Dallas and Louisa who are seventeen and nineteen respectively.

She even brought the 'big' twins, Jared and Jensen, the only ones of the older set of us without kids.

We're missing Savannah, twenty-one; she's got one babe who I think is Dean's age. Aubrey, twenty-two and her two little ones. Jackson, twenty-six; he's got three and my eldest sister Georgia, twenty-eight with five kids already. And of course, Daddy.

We start pretty young in the Colt clan. Mama was only eighteen when she had me, all she wanted was a huge family—she got it.

The rest of my siblings surround me excited; it's been awhile; I give them each a hug and warm greeting. Jared and Jensen are at the kitchen table trying to pop grapes into each other's mouths from a distance. They don't come over, I have to go to them.

"Heya, Sammy," Jensen says as Jared throws a grape and he tries to catch it.

"If my baby ends up squishing grapes in the floors later, I'll tan both your hides."

"Hello to you too," Jen says. Jared says nothing, but he's smiling. They're non-identical twins, but they always side together. Actually, Jared looks more like me than he does his twin.

I had to babysit them a lot; they always got up to something together.

"C'mere, knuckle-head," I say and hug Jensen around the neck. Jared hugs me next, carefully probably forewarned of my rib injury. When we part Jen says, "Jare!" and throws a grape at him, he catches it flawlessly. I roll my eyes. They go right back to their game.

I turn to see where Dean's got to; he's still with Mama, but now everyone's fawning over him. A little of the Dean I first met is bolting through. He's not shy at all, acting like the king of the room, probably trying to impress everyone. I think it's important to him to make a good impression with my family.

"Good surprise, Baby?" Cas says from behind, coming in from outside. He's put the puppy down, now that she's presumably peed and she scampers off to check out the kids. Hunter and Lily welcome her—they've got just the right amount of energy for her too; we're going to have a tired puppy and a tired baby once today is through.

"This is the best surprise. Oh sweet Lord I'm a jerk, Cassy. This is the 'hired help.' You've had this planned all along."

"Since you called me and asked. You know I always take care of you."

I've got some _major_ making up to do. It must have been some work to pull this off. "I'm sorry, Cassy."

"Don’t be. I probably should have told you, but that look on your face when you saw your mama makes it all worth it. This is the real reason Andrew's gone a few more weeks—your mama said if she's coming to take care of her baby, _she's_ taking care of her baby. Most of the other staff are off too."

Mama's not used to serving staff. Not that Mama and Daddy couldn't afford them—she thought it was an important part of growing up, doing chores. We all pitched in, old to young.

"I think I'm going to see less of Dean than when your parents were here, look at him." Lulu's got him now. She's quite tall for her age, we all are except Mama, she's the shortest of the Colt clan; most of us took after Daddy's side in that. "But this is great, so great."

There's something comforting about having your own mama around when you're hurt. She's busy at the stove and she's got Louisa and Dallas doing something.

I swoop in and kiss Cas, but he quickly takes over and his hands are in my hair. Last night was great, but we're both going to go mental without _proper_ sex soon. Cas and Sam style sex that is.

I get hit in the head with a grape, which bounces to the floor and is quickly picked up by the puppy.

I turn up to glare at my brothers who are laughing hysterically, but Mama's on them quick—that woman's got eyes everywhere. "Hey, grapsey twins—get your butts over here now and grab the stuff to start setting the table."

I'm ten all over again when I smirk at them.

"Yeah, Mama. We're coming," Jensen says.

"Excuse me, Sur?"

"Yes, Ma'am," Jared answers for them both. Jensen pelts me with another grape as he walks by.

The puppy snatches that grape too. "Can they eat those?" I ask Cas. Lordy Bee. Kids are my specialty, not puppies. I've got some learning to do.

"Not sure."

~SDC~

After being passed around like a football, I finally make it back to Nana Colt and I'm not going anywhere. She's the best of both world's: She's _exactly_ like Daddy _and_ she's a Gramma. If I've learned anything these past weeks it's that Gramma's are the best. I miss Gramma Winchester, but she left me my very own doggy… Who no one's keeping a very good eye on, I notice. I would, but I'm too little and she keeps bowling me over; besides, it's a big enough job keeping track of Nana. She's amazing! The things she can do with me on her hip! And she talks to me the whole time. I've already got to know her pretty well.

"You know, your daddy was my first baby, Dean. Had him when I was eighteen and Lordy Bee, despite being from a large family myself, I didn't know a thing. All I had to give was love and thankfully your granddaddy.

I keep wanting to touch her hair—she's so pretty she doesn't seem real.

And for such a small person, she's got huge presence and commands everyone around her like an army, flawlessly.

Even the two big dudes look like they wouldn't dare mess with her. When she ordered them to do something, they pretty much jumped to it.

But she treats Daddy like her partner in crime. He's in charge too—even if he can't do much because of his owwie—and he knows he's in charge; he knows he's earned it. He's fallen back into an old role, one where he's in complete control and command of everyone; like Nana and from the mood in the room everyone else knows is too. They know to respect the eldest Colt or pay the price. Wow. Daddy's so important.

"I relied on your Daddy and your Auntie Georgia. I may be a pro now, but I don't know what I would have done in the early days without them helping me," she tells me. I like hearing stories about Daddy when he was younger.

"Here Dean, you can take your plate to the table and ask your Daddy to set it at your highchair for you—everyone helps in a Colt home, remember that. Then you come back to Nana, y'here?"

I feel very important all of a sudden. Gramma Winchester and Daddy always give me missions, but there's something about the way she's _phrased_ it that's making me feel I'm about to run an errand of national significance.

She gives me the plastic plate and I toddle across the kitchen to Daddy who's sitting—probably since Papa told him to. My puppy's at Daddy's feet, sleeping again already. She was running around like a manic all morning with two of Daddy's other siblings (I haven't got all their names yet, there's too freaking many and apparently this isn't all of them).

But soon as I make my way over, like she's got some kind of 'Dean-radar,' the puppy perks up and pounces. Daddy's hand just catches my head in time before it smucks the ground and he let's out a quiet, "fudge."

When I look up through the puppy licking my face, I see Daddy's hurt himself a little by catching me. I wonder if someone will get cross with him for doing that, but no one does. Instead, one of the big guys apologizes. "Sorry, Sam. I tired to swoop in, but you were faster—my fault." The big guy pulls the puppy off me and Daddy helps me stand up—I've still got the plate clutched in my fist.

The man looks _a lot_ like Daddy, but he's not a Gramma, so it doesn't add up to the same kind of magic I felt when I set eyes on Nana, but I do study him.

"Hey little bear, I'm your Uncle Jared." He's crouched to my height; the puppy's licking his face now. That puppy is crazy; someone needs to control her. "What's your puppy's name?"

I look up at Daddy. I'm not sure how to explain. "She doesn't have a name yet—he just got her this morning," Daddy supplies. "Dean wants to name her dog."

 _'Cause I can say 'dog' Daddy._ Sort of. But Papa's right, she's really pretty and needs something better than 'dog.' I point to her. "Gog."

"See?" Daddy says.

Uncle Jared laughs. "

I remember I'm supposed to give Daddy my plate. "I see Nana already has you working for her." He puts the plate on my highchair.

"None of us are safe, Dean," a new, low voice says. It's the other big guy Nana told to set the table. He's got a stack of plates he's placing down. Are we _all_ going to eat at this table? Looks like it's going to be a cozy breakfast.

"Why don't you name your dog nuisance?" He laughs at his own joke.

"Jensen," Daddy scolds, but Jensen doesn't stop laughing.

"Quit being a jerk, Jen," Uncle Jared says.

I dunno. I kind of agree with Uncle Jensen. I love her, but she _is_ a bit of a nuisance. She's whining again, wanting to get to me.

" _Jared._ Watch your language—little ears."

Uncle Jared winces. "Sorry, Sam. Uhhh… don't say that, okay Dean? Mama will wash my mouth out and I want to actually taste my breakfast."

Uncle Jared's funny, I giggle. The puppy's still whining, so I walk over to pat her. Uncle Jared's still holding her, so she can't get me. I pat her head and tell her to 'be nice goggy.'

Uncle Jared laughs. "This kid's a riot."

We have to add tables pulled from somewhere, but somehow, we all manage to fit. Nana's right where I want her, to my left and Daddy's on my right. Papa's beside Daddy.

The table's alive with chatter and interesting. But Nana quiets everyone, 'cause we're supposed to say a prayer.

We didn't even say a prayer with Gramma and Grampa Winchester and I know they're religious too—they were talking about me starting at Sunday school already. Fuck that.

Nana makes Uncle Jensen say the prayer, but he doesn't look pleased about it; he's got a smirk on his face though—I know he's up to something. He starts with nice things, but ends with: "Lord we know without at doubt, you'll bless this food as we pig out."

"Jensen Ross…" Nana scolds.

Uncle Jared hits him upside the head.

"Hey!"

"Got him for you Mama."  
Everyone laughs including me.

~SDC~

After breakfast the whole crew wants to go outside and explore the property; except Jared and Jensen, they ask for a car to go into town. I don't know what they're up to, but they are twenty-four now, whatever they're doing, I guess they have a right to. Still doesn't stop me worrying—it's my nature; I've been helping mama raise kids since they came along. I was six when they were born.

Of course I didn't babysit them on my own at that age, but I still helped Mama. Loved it too.

I decide to stay in with Mama and by default Dean who refuses to leave her hip—poor Mama. Looks like he's going to stick to her while she's here. Not sure if it's because his other Gramma left and he wants to make sure this one stays, or that it's because it's _my_ mama. Either way, it's totally adorable. Don't tell Dean I said that.

"How's Daddy, Mama?" He'd had a heart attack a while back, shortly after we'd moved here, which was a catalyst in the events that led to Cas and I taking over Colt.

In fact, we almost moved back.

"Daddy's good. Him retiring early was the best thing he's done. He's real proud of you—we both are Sammy."

"Thanks for doing this, Mama. I don't know how you pulled this off—don't the younger kids have school?"

"You're important to us and you needed us—heck, you've always been there for me, darned if I wasn't going to be here for you. I knew a crew of us would help cheer you up too, s'why it took us a bit to get here. I arranged for everyone to have their school stuff brought with'em. We're going to have to have a few school sessions the two weeks we're here."

"That's fine, Mama. Sounds kinda fun. You wanna do some school with the kids, Dean Bean?"

"Yeah," he says.

"Course he does. I bet he's real smart, aren't you potaytah pie?"

Dean laughs at being called 'potaytah pie.' Least now he'll know where I get all my goofy nicknames from. "Yeah. Nana?" He says.

"Yep. Nana will teach you too, Sugar."

He smiles thinking that's the best thing in the world. "You want to come see Daddy sweetheart? I'll bet Nana could use a break, to sit down."

"No." He scowls at me. He's quite comfortable thank-you very much, Daddy.

My eyes widen; shocked. Mama's laughing. He's _never_ said 'no' to come to Daddy. I can't help feeling a little hurt.

"Don't feel bad, Sugar—it's hard to compete with Nana Colt." 

"I see that."

"Why don't you go get some sun, and have yourself a visit? Dean and I are going to make a pie."

Yep. I've lost my son forever now, well, two weeks at least—she's just said the magic Dean words. If he didn't already worship the ground she walks on; he would now.

"If you're sure, Mama."

"I'm sure. I'll bring him out in a bit. Besides. Your husband keeps checking in the winda every five minutes as if he thinks you'll keel over—best go out there and keep him company, if no one else."

Cas went out with everyone, he thought it the hospitable thing to do, but Mama's right, he's worried about me. I know he also wanted to give me a few minutes alone with Mama—that's a hard thing to come by since she's always doing something.

"Okay, Mama." I kiss Dean, who's got his soother plugged into his mouth. "You're not going to miss Daddy at all? I've barely got to snuggle you for two weeks!" I complain when Dean still shows no sign of even missing me when he knows I'm leaving the room like he usually does.

He points to the door. "Uh!" In other words: _Go'on Daddy._

"Why are you grunting like a caveman, Sur?" Mama mock scolds him. "I thought you were a Moddler. We ought to be able to teach you some words."

That's what I had thought too. Dean had learned a few words real quick, then it just sort of dropped off. It was hard to say whether it was lack of practice, desire, or the possibility I'd been deciding not to think about yet: That he can't. Mama looks like she's more thinking out loud than telling him off—she wouldn't tell off a baby so young, Moddler or not.

She looks at me a little concerned, but covers it with a warm smile for Dean's sake, so he doesn't worry. She pats his cheek. "This little boy's a smart one, I can tell; we'll have him doing arithmetic by the end of the week, won't we Cheese Doodle?"

Dean laughs at her. "Yeah."

"Go, Sam, Sugar. We'll talk later."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sam's large family is hard to keep track of, so I thought I'd post this for anyone interested. In brackets is their current age. Next to that is # of kids they have. If no kids listed that means they don't have any ;-)
> 
> Sam (30) Kids (1)  
> Georgia (28) Kids (5)  
> Jackson (26) Kids (3)  
> Jared and Jensen (24)  
> Aubrey (22) Kids (2)  
> Savannah (21) Kids (1)  
> Louisa (19)  
> Dallas (17)  
> Jamie (15)  
> Caroline (14)  
> Lily Faye and Hunter (12)  
> Lulu (10)


	18. Colt Mischief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daddy and Papa go for a much needed night out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was really honoured to see how many people were worried about Sam. He loves that you care about him so much! 
> 
> Because of that, something I was going to wait and address in the Sequel, I decided to weave it into this chapter. I think y'all will feel much better about Cas after this. And it was a great opportunity to plot set for the next story. 
> 
> I hope this chapter will make you smile--I had a lot of fun writing it! Happy Sunday!

"Can I take you out, Baby?"

"Of course you can Cassy, but, what about Dean?" Like I need to ask, Dean is completely enthralled with Nana Colt and seems to have forgotten all about Daddy.

"We'll leave him with the Colt crew of course. I figured that's the only way I'm going to ever get you to go on a date alone with me 'till Dean's eighteen."

I laugh. He's right.

~SDC~

They're leaving me. They're fucking leaving me. It irks me a bit, and I don't know why it should. I personally thought I was over the whole 'Daddy' thing. For the past couple days, I've been clinging pretty hard to Nana, practically shunning Daddy. Is that why he's leaving? He thinks I don't love him anymore?

But Dean Winchester stubbornness (as Daddy calls it) wins out and I'm _not_ going to let Daddy know, if that's the way he wants to be, screw him. They're all dressed up to go, looking pretty styling in their nice clothes—Papa must be taking Daddy somewhere fancy, a place that isn't for babies; keep rubbing it in. Yeah, I fucking get it. Have fun assholes.

I cling on to Nana and try not to look at Daddy, because I feel like crying. The looking at him and knowing he's leaving makes my tummy uncomfortable, I suck my soother harder.

I can't see Daddy, but Nana says, "I know that look on your face Sam Winchester, you go'on and have a good time. I've dealt with plenty of pouty babies who don't want their parents to go out."

How does she know everything?

"But… Cassy look at him," he says to Papa. "Why don't we do this another night? C'mere Dean Bean."

But I'm pissed. Now he wants me to cuddle him? Fuck that. "No." I grab tighter to Nana.

"He'll be fine Sam," Papa says.

I take a peak up to see Daddy's face and wish I hadn't. I think I've hurt his feelings, along with making him concerned about me. It's written all over his face, with the way his brows are knit together.

He rubs my back. "We won't be long Pumpkin Butter. Just a quick dinner, okay."

"Guh-on," I say, which means 'go away.'

"Cas, he's pissed. I can't go."

"He's tired, Baby. It's close to his bedtime. He's being a cranky fuss-pot and you know it."

No one asked you Papa.

"Dean's going to have a good time with Nana. Aren't you sweet potatah?"

I don't answer; she starts to bounce me. I hear Daddy sigh. "Be a good boy. Daddy and Papa will be home soon."

"What was all that about, Sur?" Nana says when they leave. I don’t have an answer for her; I don't know myself. She smoothes my hair off my face, smiling wide at me. "Not to worry, I've got an idea." Nana looks like she's up to mischief and I think she's got more brewing than _just_ an idea.

"Aww Mama, Jen and I have plans tonight," Uncle Jared says.

"Not anymore you don't. You're going to take our Dean here and show him a good time."

"Can't Louisa do it? She's way better with babies than Jen and I are."

"But you look a lot more like his Daddy."

That's when Uncle Jensen walks in the room. "Jared. Let's go."

"We're not going anywhere Jen."

"Why the fu-udge not?" He says seeing Nana and me almost too late. I giggle, 'cause I always think it's funny they way they trip over swear words in front of Nana and Daddy when I'm around. Uncle Jared takes me from Nana and I go to him, because he does look like a lot like Daddy and it does make me feel better, but only for a second, because Uncle Jared is most definitely _not_ Daddy. Uncle Jared's hip is a little awkward and he's not as cozy as Daddy's.

"We're on baby duty."

"What? Mama!"

"I don't want to hear a word about it, Jensen Ross."

"But, why do you need us both? Can't Jared do it—I can take care of both ladies."

Uncle Jared scowls at him; Nana whacks him hard upside the head, "Ow!"

I laugh.

"I _said_ not a word young man. You're both watching him. Just for a couple hours. I'm sure your lady friends will still be available later on tonight. Take him out to see his car, show him a good time, y'hear me?"

"Yes, ma'am," they both say at the same time, clearly not stupid enough to tell her no. I do question Nana's wisdom in leaving me with these two chuckleheads, but I think it's a bit funny that they have to postpone their dates on account of me.

I smirk at Uncle Jensen when Nana leaves. "How'd we get roped into this?"

"It's just for a couple hours, Jen. We haven't spent much time with the kid. Isn't that why we came?"

"I thought we came because Mama threatened to box our ears?"

Uncle Jared laughs—he does laugh a little like Daddy. Oh. I see, Nana. I curl into his chest.

"That too. How about you call the girls, tell them we'll pick them up at eight instead of six?"

~SDC~

  


"Jesus, Cas. This place is—"

"A place only we can afford? Yes. So is there any chance you can stop worrying about Dean and enjoy a little alone time with your husband?"

"I'm sorry, Cassy. It's been—"

"Rough. I know. For all of us."

I nod. "It was like—"

"Before."

I laugh. "Are we going to keep finishing each other's—"

"Sentences? Probably."

Cas and I have known one another too long. Our friends hate playing any kind of 'couple's' games with us, we always win.

"I have a secondary agenda for tonight," he admits. "I did want to take you out on a romantic date, but I also thought it was important for us to talk about _us._ "

"Agreed." We've had to do this many times. As you've seen, our relationship is complicated. So far you've seen us at our best and believe me, even the odd hiccups we've had since Dean are just that: Hiccups as compared to before. The visit from Cas' parents wasn't even out of our norm with them—the wrench was my injury. It hampered how we usually cope and made it seem worse than it was.

The wine comes and we order our meals. I've been assured by Dr. Shaggy that a glass or two of wine will not combine with the tea for negative effects, but that I should still keep alcohol to a minimum while I'm healing.

"Dean's caused quite a stir in our lives, hasn't he Cas?"

"Yes. A good one. And I saw something clear this visit, because of Dean. Things can't be the way they were before with my parents—not for us. Father is going to have to understand that I run our house, with the rules you and I have decided on together. Father and Mother did things different with us kids. It was right for our family at the time and while I appreciate Father's guidance, since I unfortunately share many of his traits, some boundaries must be set."

I hate when he talks that way about himself. "I know your father is a good man, and he means well. You share many good traits with him Cas. I love us. I love the way our relationship is—your parents' visit would not have affected me so, if we'd had our usual tools."

He's got that look in his eye—the one that worries me. "Cas, don't even think about it. Dean and I are not better off without you, or your parents. He loves your parents. I do too. I know they care about me in they're own strange way. And they're head over heels about Dean."

"You didn't like it Baby. You didn't like them telling you what to do with Dean. You and I agreed upon that from the beginning, that how you parent Dean has no bearing on our relationship. He's not a punishment tool, for me to take away; we make big decisions together; I only overrule when I see fit. And me doing so is a helluva lot different than my father doing so—you trust me to know what's best, you've given _me_ that privilege. It's not a trust you can extend to my father or mother; I understand that, especially after all that's happened."

"I know the family I married into Cas. You've always made it clear I was marrying into a domestic discipline family. When I'm healed, you'll be able to spank me again; if you had in the first place, it would have been better."

"No. Not with this. We will follow their rules in their home; including Dean. But that's as far as it goes. From now on, it's our rules in our home. I meant what I said to Father. It will take some time for me to figure out the logistics; I failed tremendously while they were here; I hope I can have your patience as we work through this _with_ my parents."

"If you failed, then I failed too—I am responsible for my actions Cas. I didn't make it any easier for you and as much as you try to deny it, I don't just do this for you. I need your discipline as much as you like to give it. How many more times am I going to have to tell you that? I _know_ things would have been fine, if you could have punished me properly."

He looks frustrated now. This visit has brought out old wounds I thought had healed, but maybe I've been wrong. "I didn't like seeing you like that. And I didn't know what to do to make it better."

"What the heck are you talking about? Bringing my mama was the perfect way to deal with it."

He sighs. "I have to tell you something Sam. You're going to get mad—but please, please understand, I didn't tell you before, because you were not in a good place. It would have torn you apart."

I'm already freaking out. "Cas."

He swallows. "My father was going to take Dean with him back to Texas for a few weeks—with or without our permission. If Mother hadn't warned me and I had followed "Winchester Protocol" that's exactly what would have happened."

I feel many things when he tells me that. Punched in the gut for starters—I think I would have told them to shove Winchester Protocol, at least at first, but I too know what would have happened in the end. The war it would have caused… I would have backed down for Dean's sake, not wanting Dean to have to deal with animosity between his grandparents and his parents every time he wanted to visit in the future.

But definitely I'm feeling anger—the audacity of Clyde Winchester sometimes. At least Claire sees some sense. I know it comes from the heart, but as Mama would say: 'A well meaning ass, is still an ass.' She doesn't feel like she's swearing when she says that one.

The most prominent feeling; is the one I feel for Cas: Sorrow. He's been dealing with all that on his own. He's right, he couldn’t have told me with the way I'd been feeling. I would have freaked out and a spanking would have been the only way to calm me, assure me—something he couldn't and still can't do. With his parents gone, that immediately lifted eighty percent of my anxiety. I'd still really appreciate a spanking, but there's no way Cas will do that without word from the doctor that my ribs are all healed.

"That wasn't your fault Cas. And you pulled through as always."

"No, it wasn't my fault but it is my problem." There's fierce determination in his eyes and I know my husband will not be swayed on this.

"What have you decided?"

"My parents don't have say over Dean; they don't get to swoop in and overrule you regardless of your condition. I know you couldn't look after him physically, but I realize, you could have dictated. He will obey their rules while in their house, but we make all decisions concerning Dean."

"What? But Cas, that's going to start World War Seven," I practically shriek.

"I don't care, Sam."

"How are you going to do that exactly?"

"Watch your tone, Samuel."

"Sorry."

"I'm going to speak with Father my next trip out to the Texas office. I'm not foolish enough to think that's going to be the end of it, but I'm still going to do it."

I'm willing to follow the Winchester way as we've always done to avoid trouble for Dean. But this is Cas's call. I'm worried, but I trust him. If there's anything that's been solidified over these past weeks, it's just that: How much I can trust my husband to do what's best for our family.

"I think I can come to a compromise with my father, without beginning a war."

"I trust you, Cassy. If you say so."

"It's time, Baby. Besides, I'm sure there are some things we can give them to keep the peace. I want them in Dean's life."

"I do too, Cassy."

"We can do anything together, Sam. I'll figure this out."

"This means we're putting Dean into Sunday school early, doesn't it?"

He sighs. "One big conversation topic a night, Baby. We might have to give on some of the things they want to smooth things over; to show them we don't completely want to disregard them; but if it's something we're really against, that's the end of it."

It always sends a thrill through me when Cas gets all big bad dominant and uses phrases like 'that's the end of it.' "Can we skip dinner and go have sex in the car?"

"Am I turning you on, Baby?"

"You always turn me on."

The waiter interrupts us with our appetizers. I shouldn't have ordered crab cakes. They remind me of the first time gave crab cakes to Dean the look on his face was clearly, "What the hell is this crap, Daddy?" He liked them in the end, but I think his initial rejection was based on that he thought they were breaded burgers. The look on his face when he tasted crab…

"You're thinking of our son." It's a statement not a question. I look up.

"I know your looks too, Sam Winchester."

"I'm sorry; I'm hopeless."

"It's okay, Baby. This was probably too soon."

I grab his hand across the table. "No. It was just the right time. I need to take my mind off everything. I know my family will take good care of him; I'm being illogical."

"Not illogical. Just a Mama bear."

~SDC~

"Here, Jen, toss him back to me."

Daddy would kill them with his bare hands if he saw what my uncles decided on as a game to play with me, but I'm having the time of my life. I soar high, through the air and I'm laughing my ass off and try to keep my soother from falling out. Uncle Jared catches me easily. "You like that little bear?"  
"Yeah. 'Gain."

"Jen!" Uncle Jared throws me up in another arc toward Uncle Jensen; he catches me.

"You know what I'm thinking Jare? We take the kid to the park with us. I bet he's a chick magnet. Aren't you, stud?"

I'm an everything magnet Uncle Jensen. People fucking love Dean Winchester. I smile at him.

"I say, game on. We'll score points with Mama too—she's none too pleased with you, Jensen."

"Yeah. I know."

After a few more rounds of 'toss the Dean,' we head over to see Baby. I'm actually pretty excited to show them to her myself. I think Uncle Jensen's gonna like her, he's a real car buff.

"Holy Shit, Dean! This car's sweet! You got it from your daddy? Your first Daddy, I mean?"

"Yeah."

"Watch the language, Jen. Sam'll kill us if we teach him swear words."

"Yes, Mama."

I laugh. If only they knew I've been swearing since birth, in this life and the last.

He checks everything out, opening up the hood, while Uncle Jared and I sit behind the steering wheel. "Vroom, vroom, Dean," Uncle Jared says as I pretend to drive. "I'll bet you used to drive fast, didn't you Dean?"

Sometimes. Like when I had to high tail it from any number of Supernatural creatures.

"Fuck me, look at this Jare."

"Yeah. We get it. It's a car Jen. Quit orgasming over it. And language."

"Fuck my language. Look in the fucking trunk."

Trunk. The trunk? I feel like I should remember something about the trunk. There's nothing in it though. Daddy and I have played the game where we open and close the trunk hundreds of times; I would know.

But something's niggling at my brain. There is something I should remember—stupid Modlenol crap; it makes some shit fuzzy.

When Uncle Jared brings me around to the trunk to see what Uncle Jensen's found, it all comes flooding back to me. It's all my shit. My hunting shit. The sawed off I made when I was nine I took from Dad's storage locker, the iron bars, the machetes, salt, matches, bottle of holy water and much, much more.

There's no way Papa and Daddy know about this—they never fucking found it, which means, Bobby never told them. He must have wanted me to have some shit, just in case. No matter how much Daddy and Papa want to protect me, they just don't understand the ways of hunters—Bobby would know.

But now my uncles fucking know—I have to convince them not to tell. I could blackmail them, threaten to tell Daddy _and_ Nana the game they were just playing with me, but that's means I'd somehow have to form an intelligible sentence, which I can't fucking do.

"What is all this? Dean?" Uncle Jensen asks.

"As if he can tell you, Jen."

"Well, what do we do? Tell Sam?"

"No!" I yell.

They both look at me stunned; share a look with each other that I know is them having a private 'twin conversation.' Too many people do that in this family, it's fucking annoying.

"Okay. We won't tell a soul Dean, on two conditions." They were able to work out conditions without words?

"One," Uncle Jared says. "If they ever find out, we didn't know anything."

No problem. "Yeah," I say.

"Two," Uncle Jensen says this time. "You agree to get your daddy to let us take you to the park to pick up chicks."

Double no problem. "Yeah."

"And three," Uncle Jen says. I don't forget he said two conditions. "Try not to say those 'bad words' I was saying before, okay?"

"Yeah."

"Good," they both say at the same time. Uncle Jensen closes the trunk back up. "Shit kid, when you're bigger, hell, soon as you can talk, we want to hear all about it."

~SDC~

When we come into the house, the puppy barrels her way toward us barking. "Quiet, dog. Quiet. Y'hear?" Nana says. "Ain't it about time she had a name?"

"Well I did suggest something, but no one thought it was a good idea," Uncle Jensen says.

"I thought of something, Dean," Uncle Jared says ignoring his twin. "How about Impala? I'm sure you can at least say 'pala' yeah, Dean?"

I try it. "Pah-lah." It's not quite how everyone else says it.

"Yeah, that's right. What do you think?"

I shrug. It's okay—I can say it at least. Uncle Jared's pretty smart.

"I think that's Dean for: It'll do," Uncle Jared says.

"Now that's decided, Mama, we appeased him for a few hours. May we _go_ now? Our ladies await."

"Thank-you sweethearts," she says as I dive for her. "It's time for this little one to get ready for bed, anyhow. You go'on now."

"Thanks, Mama," they both say.

"Did you have a nice time with your uncles?"

I nod and yawn. I don't want to go to bed though—my plan is to stay up and wait for Daddy.

Nana takes me to the bath. "Does Dean know how to take off his own shirt?"

Crap. No. Daddy and Papa do everything for me. I tug at my shirt and whine.

The bath water's running and I can see she's got bubbles for me. "It's okay, you can help Nana, okay?"

"Yeah."

"My Sammy's been waiting for his own babe a long time. He's usually pretty good at getting little ones to do things for themselves, but I'll bet he spoils the pants off a you?" She tickles my belly.

"Yeah."

"Nana will show you though, but let Daddy do it if he wants, okay, Sugar?"

I nod. I do want to learn though. My body seems to have forgotten the movements. "Grab the bottom, like this," she says putting my hands in the right place, crossed over the other like an 'X'. I study her every move very seriously.

"Now pull up," she says smiling wide. I do, but I get trapped.

"Uh! Nana! Nana!"

She swoops in to help and it's Nana to the rescue when she helps pull my shirt off. "There you are, thought I'd lost you for a sec," she says and pokes my belly. I giggle. "That was a good first try. We'll have you doing that in no time."

There's a knock on the door. "Mama?"

"Come, in."

It's Auntie Caroline. "Hi there, Dean." I remember her, Auntie Caroline's real pretty. I was surprised to see that some of Daddy's family has blonde hair. "You gonna be long Mama? Daddy's on the phone with Lily Faye, he wanted to talk to you."

"Hmmm… Would you be all right with Auntie Caroline getting you started, Dean?"

Would you be all right with the pretty blonde girl giving you a sponge bath? Is what I hear. And before you judge me, I'm not blood related to any of these people. I'm sure it will be 'gross' later, when I've got to know them as my relatives, but at this moment in time, I can think Auntie Caroline's hot if I want to.

I nod and Nana's onto me. "Behave yourself, Sur. I'll be back in five minutes."

When I'm left alone with her, I'm a bit star struck. I reach out to touch her golden hair. "You like my hair, Dean?" Her accent is thick. "You're a charmer, you are. Why, I bet all the girls are gonna love you. Maybe the boys too."

She helps me remove my pants and diaper like Daddy would, and plunks me in the bath—I don't splash her like I do Daddy sometimes when I'm feeling mischievous. "What toys do you like to play with?"

Suddenly toys seem too babyish and I'm about to say something, but apparently she wasn't really asking me anyway; she grabs out the bucket that's got some cool figurines Daddy lets me have. "Who's this one?" She starts to say, but there's another knock on the door. "Mama?" A voice says from the door.

"Nope. It's Caroline. Come in."

Is the whole world going to come in and watch me take a bath?

It's Uncle Jamie. "The twins are fighting with Lulu and they won't listen to me. Can you go knock their heads together?"

"Well I'm giving Dean a bath—if they won't listen to you, what makes you think they'll listen to me? You're older."

"Yeah, but your voice is like Mama's, they'll behave on instinct."

"What about Dallas? He sounds like Daddy—they won't misbehave around him."

"I can't find him."

"Jared and Jensen?"

"They left."

"Louisa?"

"But then I'd have to go _look_ for her—you're right here. Please Caroline?"

"Fine. But can you wash his hair? I haven't even done that yet."

"Yeah."

I make a bit of a fuss, because I don't want to lose the pretty lady. "Shh… shh… I'll be back, stud." She winks at me and now I really don't want to fuss, so she'll think I'm a tough guy.

She's out the door and I'm left with Uncle Jamie. He reminds me a little bit of Uncle Jensen if he were younger. "Okay little dude, I'm not as good with babies as the rest of my siblings are. How about we just play for a bit, so I don’t get soap in your eyes?"

Soap in my eyes? Fuck no. That happened once when Papa bathed me, back when he didn't know anything and Daddy had to show him the right way. It hurt like a son of a bitch. I nod and show him my Hulk figurine.

Uncle Jamie turns out to be a cool kind of guy. I think I could hang with him, but I barely get the chance, the next visitor doesn't even knock. "There you are Jamie, _jerk_ , thanks to you for tellin', Hunter and I have to go to bed early."

"Don't feel sorry for you. Get out. I'm bathing the baby."

"What do you know about babies?"

"What's going on in there, Lily Faye?" Says a deep voice that even I don't want to fuck with. "I thought you were told to go get ready for bed, not tell your brother off?"

His voice is a lot deeper than Daddy's, but he acts a bit Daddy like—this must be Uncle Dallas.

"Yeah, yeah," she says leaving.

"Wait! Dal!" Uncle Jamie calls.

"Yeah?"

"Can you please take over for me? I don't know anything about bathing babies. I don't want to burn his eyes out with soap."

Burning my eyes out with soap sounds fucking scary; that plus all the pass Dean off fuckery and that Nana's right; I probably am tired is what sets me off. It begins as a pout, but then there are real tears. Uncle Jamie backs away from me like I'm the black plague. "See, Dally?"

He huffs. "Go'on, get."

I'm left, crying in the bathtub, which is starting to get cold by the way, and reaching for Uncle Dallas 'cause now I just want out. I don't care if I'm not washed. Take me back to Nana, please.

Uncle Dallas is tall and he's a good mix of Daddy and Uncle Jensen. He's got sandy blonde hair that's mid-length, blue eyes and a strong jaw. He's the type to wear torn, worn blue jeans (like he's got on now) and white t-shirts. "It's okay, buddy," he says grabbing a towel and pulling me out. "No one's gonna burn your eyes out. Don't pay any mind to Jamie."

Right away I notice, he's comfortable, like Daddy even if his voice is different. _He's_ good with babies. It's a different experience for me all together. Since this whole baby mess started, at any one time, I've been with someone who's been solely focused on me and has had some modicum of baby experience. I'm not used to being passed to any old someone. Logically I know I'm not in any danger, but tell that to my baby brain. I've changed my mind. Nana won't do. I want Daddy.

Poor Uncle Dallas gets cranky Dean.

"Look at you. You've got dirt smudged all over your face. You wanna see, Dean?"

I do? "Yeah," I say in a watery voice, sniffling and wiping my tired eyes.

We look in the mirror together and he shows me. He's right. I'm all fucking dirty—what did Jared and Jensen do to me? "Can Uncle Dally, wash that off for you?"

"Yeah."

He sticks his hand in the bathwater. "No wonder you're unhappy—the bathwater's colder than a polar bear's toe nails. Ain't it Dean?"

That's the least of my problems, but I agree with him. He adds some hot water. There's another fucking knock on the door. It's Auntie Caroline, but that ship has sailed. I'm holding on to Uncle Dally, she left me with that heathen.

"You all right with him, Dal? I'm going to do a batch of cornbread for Mama."

"Yeah, we're all right, ain't we Dean?"

I grip onto his neck and hide in his hair. He laughs.

"I'll take that as a yes. If Lulu comes by, tell her, her little butt's supposed to be in bed." she says.

"Yeah, I already sent one miscreant away."

"Thanks, Dal. I'll tell Mama you're with him." She shuts the door.

Uncle Dal, puts me in the warm bath with figurines floating all around. I'm too tired to play with them. "We're a crazy bunch Dean—your daddy used to look after most of us. I was about fourteen when he moved away, I've sure missed him. I help Mama a lot now, with the grandbabies and the ones we've got left at home. Especially since Louisa's off and on at college now. She's off now, which is why she was able to come here and see you, but well, I'm ramblin' now. What I'm trying to say is, I'm qualified," he adds with a little tickle to my belly.

Thank fucking God. I'd already figured that instinctively and from some of what he's done already, but it's nice to hear it. He washes my hair with relaxed efficiency, just like Daddy does and I settle down a bit. My need to snuggle into Daddy hasn't gone away, but it's appeased for a bit. He washes me with my special soap and a cloth and tells me he's getting all my smudges off.

"I can't believe you've even got smudges on your belly."

When I'm finally clean, he plucks me outta the bath and puts me in a warm towel. That's when Nana comes back. "Sorry, sweetie. Nana got called away to do seven different things and now we've got a factory going in the kitchen. You all right with Uncle Dally?"

"Yeah," I say to her.

"Dal?"

"Yeah, Mama. We're fine."

She's off again. "That woman's a machine Dean, and you should've seen Sam in his day. She misses him too—he was her co-captain, the ship was flawless when he was there. Daddy, my daddy that is, does all right, but she doesn't want him doing too much since his heart-attack."

Huh. I wonder why Daddy and Papa moved away, or maybe that's why they moved away—it's probably the only way Daddy and Papa get any alone time, speaking of which. "Dah-dee?"

He checks his watch. "They should be home soon. I'm sure it's well past your bedtime."

Probably, but I think I'm what Daddy calls over tired. I've got a second wind; I'm _not_ going to bed. "Let's get you dressed."

When I'm dressed, he doesn't even try putting me to sleep and brings me down to the chaos that is the kitchen. The puppy's running around being chased by the younger twins (who I thought were supposed to go to bed), Lulu's got paint and glitter out, which looks _really_ fun, Caroline is making cornbread, all over the counter, except the spot where Louisa looks like she's making another pie. Jamie's on the phone and not paying much attention to what he's doing and knocks over the dog dish. I finally spy Nana in another corner, there's music on, she's dancing and chopping vegetables.

"Hey Sugar!"

Uncle Dallas puts me down and I run to her (only falling once). She picks me up, kisses me then puts me down again. "Come join the party, Sugar."

You know what? What the hey. This looks fucking awesome! I think I will. Even if they are a bit wild, being a Colt is kick ass and I want to be one too!

~SDC~

"You sure you don't want to rent a hotel for the night? I could lather you in whip cream… Feed you strawberries… Suck on your cock…"

That all sounds enticing, but no. "Take me home to my baby, Cassy."

I've loved tonight. Loved spending an evening alone with my husband, and we did need it, but now, it's time to go home to my babe. He's probably in bed since it's well after ten, but I'm scooping him out of his crib and bringing him to bed with us. I don't care what anyone says and I know Cas won't stop me.

Soon as we walk in the door, I hear the music coming from the kitchen—it sounds like a party. Cas and I exchange a look and head on in.

Our kitchen is, well, it's being used as a kitchen, but it's also being used as a dog park, an art show (there are at least seventeen glitter pictures strung all around with familiar looking tiny handprints all over them), a dance floor and a poker tournament venue.

The puppy runs across my path and I almost trip over her, she barrels towards Cas. "Pala! Pala!" Lily Faye's shouting.

Pala?

Then I hear a huge squeal and giggle and see my baby barrel across the floor after Lily Faye and the puppy only he's not the baby I left. This one is in nothing but a diaper, which looks to have become a piece of artwork, there's glitter all over his belly and his feet sound sticky. Something's definitely in his hair and he's carrying puppy's leash, which he trips over twice in trying to follow the other kids—I have no idea where his soother went.

Cas's eyes are wide as we look around at the complete and utter pandemonium. Dallas finally catches up with Dean before he can fall again and scoops him up, but Dean demands to be let down to run with Lily Faye, screaming bloody murder at the intrusion—darn, I know that scream, he's definitely over tired. Lulu's still hanging pictures, some are on the ground and Dean ends up running through the undried 'masterpieces' (which explain his sticky feet). Hunter comes running out from the other room, apparently the ring leader in the puppy parade and he's calling "Pala! Pala!" Lily Faye runs toward Hunter and the puppy, Dean follows, Dallas close behind—at least someone's watching him.

Jenson and Jared are drinking beers, a girl on each side with a poker match going. Jamie's dealing. Mama, Louisa and Caroline are dancing, cooking and baking up a storm, the music's blaring.

The cupboards are all opened with various pots strewn about. I cut the music. "What on God's green Earth is going on in here?"

Everyone freezes, including my sparkle baby, until he realizes Daddy's home. "Dah-dee!" He says and runs squealing to me launching his glitter glue body at me in my nice clothes, or they were nice clothes, now I look like one of those freaking vampires from Twilight. "Hiya Dean Bean, what happened to you?"

I think he's saying 'picture, Daddy.' "Yeah, I gathered that. Lordy Bee, does the puppy have sparkles on her too?" Yep, she does.

"Pah-la, Dah-dee!"

"Yeah, we named her, Sam," says Lily Faye.

"Okay, party's over. You two," I start with the twins. "Wash up and in bed, you have fifteen minutes—I'm checking."

"Aw, Sam it's only—" Hunter begins.

"I believe I asked you to so something, Sur."

"Yes, sir."

They run off pretty quick. "Dal, Jamie—you two are on puppy duty. I want that dog desparkled within the hour." Those two know not to argue with me. They just hop to it.

"How much baking is left Mama?"

"We just took our last batch of corn bread out and I've got my pot pies ready to go for lunch tomorrow. We'll clean up now, Baby."

"Thanks, Mama."

Out of the corner of my eye I spy Jared and Jensen slowly standing, probably trying to make their way to the nearest exit. "Just where do you two think y'all are going?"

"Well, it looks like things are over here—we were going to take our party elsewhere."

"Wrong. Cassy, call these nice young ladies a cab. You two are in for the night."

"We're twenty-four, Sam."

"And in my house. My house; my rules. Besides, y'all are cleaning up this freaking snow-globe that was my kitchen." They're about to protest, but I give them my 'business' look, one they're very used to and they get busy, suddenly not very interested in their lady friends.

I look to Dean who's beginning to whine and rub his eyes with hands that are full of paint and sparkles. "Are you my glitter-baby Dean Bean?"

He's going from sixty to zero; we're reaching cry territory. "No, Dah-dee. Pala!"

"I know, you still want to play with… Pala?" I look over to Jared who's picking up glitter pictures.

"Sorry," he winces. "My idea. You know like Impala? After his car?"

"Ahhh," Cas says. "I like it."

I shake my head at them both. "Dah-dee," Dean cries. And now I have to bathe a tired baby.

"Will you be okay to bath him, Baby?"

"I'd better be. I'm sorry Cas, but I know this level of tired—he'll only want Daddy. Can you make sure the crew does what they've been told?"

"Dah-dee!" Dean demands.

"Yes, sweetheart. Cas?"

"Yes, sir," he says cheekily. "I love how your accent comes back when you start ordering people around—it's sexy Baby. I'll bring you a bottle in a bit."

I start a smile, but it's cut off by Dean's cries. "I know Baby Boy." I head up the stairs the walking calms him a bit. If I wasn't so focused on getting him cleaned up, so I could get him to bed, I'd be laughing at him, he looks silly. I should take a picture.

"No," he says when he sees we're going to the bath.

"I know. You probably already had a bath tonight, but you're a sparkle baby Dean. I can't put you to bed like this."

"Nooo, Dah-deeee…"

I have to put him down for a minute and crouch to take off his diaper, since I can't maneuver him like I normally would. He cries.

And I have this plan to sit in the bath with him, since I think leaning over is not going to fly with my still broken ribs. I probably should have accepted Cas's help, but I've gone back into 'Run the Ship' mode—this is its downfall, I have to do _particular_ things myself, even to my own deficit, but man did it feel good to slip into my old role. I don't think I'd want to go back to that, I much prefer Cas in charge, but once in awhile… well, I do have some pretty good memories looking after the kids is all.

Crying, sobbing Dean is standing there, naked and I have to make a quick decision. In the bath I go. I undress quick as I can as the water's running and hop in the large bath with my pissed off child. But me joining him in the bath surprises him and he quiets for a sec. I'm able to put him down, so I can sit without him fussing much.

"We'll both have a bath Dean Bean. A quick one, okay?"

"Yeah."

I set to work deglittering my baby. "Did you have fun with your aunts and uncles, Dean Bean?"

"Yeah," Dean says, interested in my belly button. I run water through his hair 'till it's fully wet, then I lather it up with baby shampoo. "Dah-dee?" He says rubbing his eyes again, his voice wavering.

"Are you sleepy, Dean Bean?"

"Yeah."

"I know. Daddy's working fast as he can." I do a quick scrub. It's not enough to get every sparkle off, but it's good enough. There's a knock at the door and Dean glares at it. It's Cas.

"Oh good, you two are still in here. Holy wow, it looks like a fairy threw up in your bath kiddo."

Dean does not look pleased to have the sanctity of his bath disrupted. "Whoa, sorry."

"Yeah, he's not a happy boy right now, Cas. Don't take it personally—it's Daddy only."

Well-meaning, Cas reaches out to grab him out of the bath for me and make it easier for me to get out; Dean screams and starts crying immediately. "Dah-dee!"

Cas recoils, "yikes, sorry." Not as sorry as my eardrum.

Dean clings on to me. "Pass me a towel, would you Cas?"

I wrap my stubborn, tired little boy, who's already stopped crying and scowling at his papa (bad Papa for trying to _take_ him from Daddy), in the towel and realize there's just no way to do this without him crying, because I have to stand up then crouch to pick him up, since I can't maneuver myself from seated without putting undue pressure on my ribs. I move as quick as I can, but like I suspected, Dean let's out a wail, but I manage to get him out of the tub without hurting myself.

Cas has a towel for me and he dabs me off so I don't have to put Dean down, then tucks the towel around me so I don't freak any of my brother and sisters out with my naked parts. Cas and I both know we're bringing Dean to our room; without having to discuss it, he veers off to Dean's room to get him a diaper and some jammies. I take the bottle and plug it in Dean's mouth as soon as I hit our room.

"My poor, poor babe. He's so tired."

"Nooo… Dah-dee."

"No you're not tired?" I don't think he knows what he wants.

"Uhhh…" He whines with the nipple still in his mouth. Cas is there fast. We lay him on the bed and I let him hold his bottle, so he can still suck. His eyes are droopy, but even _this_ tired, he's fighting sleep.

Cas and I work as a team to get him diapered and dressed; when I pick him up again, he can't keep his eyes open anymore, finally, finally out cold. Cas wiggles a soother into his mouth. We both sigh relief. Then we both look at each other and laugh quietly.

"I wish we'd got a picture," Cas says.

"I know," I say as I lay Dean down on our bed. "But I was trying to avoid meltdown, I think we narrowly did."

He kisses me. "Your ribs okay, Baby?"

"A little sore. I could use more tea. I want to check the kids and talk to Mama. I'll make some and come right back." Cas knows not to interfere when I'm in this mode. He probably wants to tell me to just come back to bed, but I literally can't.

I hit Lulu's room first. She's out, so I move onto the twins. They're up reading, but in bed. "Lights out," I say, but I go in to kiss their foreheads, even if they're maybe getting a bit old for goodnight kisses.

"Night, Sammy," they say in sync.

Dallas and Jamie are coming up the hall, puppyless. "Pala's in her crate in Mama's room, deglittered, Sam," Jamie says. Dal gives his quiet nod.

Mama insisted the puppy stay with her. Especially since if she stayed with us, her whimpering would keep us up all night; Cas and I wouldn't get any sleep. Since I'm still healing and Cas has work, she wanted to make sure we got our full rest. That and she's determined to have the puppy at least 'potty trained' by the time she leaves.

"Thank-you both."

"We're heading to bed, Sam. See you in the morning," Dallas says. The two are sharing a room, so they head off in the same direction.

The kitchen crew looks to be just finishing when I get down there. "I'm finished in here," Caroline says. "Night Sammy."

She hugs me carefully and I kiss her forehead. I still remember the night she was born; I was sixteen. She's always been a sweet thing, but with a disposition just like Mama's. "Night, Caroline."

"I'm hitting the hay too Sam," Louisa says. "I'm beat." We hug too.

Jared and Jensen are covered in sparkles from head to toe and look unimpressed. "May we be relieved from duty, sir?" Jensen says sarcastically.

"Yeah, we want to shower and get to bed some time this century," Jared adds.

"Good job in here boys. You are dismissed."

As they walk by, they each push a broom in my hand, kiss Mama on the forehead and are gone.

"They still listen to you," Mama says. She's already pouring water into a mug; she's made my tea—it's got a distinct smell.

"You got some explaining to do Mama."

She laughs.

"You planned this!"

"You needed it Sugar and so did we. The way you came in and took over like that? This visits going to go a lot smoother. Sides, that boy a yours had it in him to stay up and wait for his daddy. He's stubborn as a mule. He wasn't going to bed for me or anyone. So, we had a little party, Colt style. I had my eye on him."

I take a sip of hot tea. "How could you not? With all that glitter you could see him from space."

We laugh. "Thanks, Mama."

"You and Cas have a good night?"

"We did."

"Good. At the weekend, we're going to have a big 'ol barbecue. I want you to invite all your friends—Cas tells me they haven't even met Dean yet."

"It's been busy Mama."

"It's always going to be busy now that you've got a little one—no one knows that better than you."

"Thanks, Mama." It feels good to hear that from her. I finish my tea with Mama and we chat some more.

"All right. You go'on now to bed—we've got a busy day of planning tomorrow."

Do we ever. Wait 'till Cas hears.

When I slip into bed, I see he's cuddled around our son, humming to him—another photo opp I'm going to miss; I take a mental picture. "He still out?'

"Yeah. Everyone's in order?"

"Yeah. And FYI, this party was just the first—Mama's planning a barbeque."

"Dear Lord."

I laugh. "Both our families are nuts, Cas, but you know? Wouldn't have it any other way."

"Me neither Baby. Me neither."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And I haven't forgotten about Gramma W. Dean was supposed to thank her for the puppy. He did (off screen) but the 'scene' didn't really fit in with this chapter. I'll see if I can somehow weave it into the next. ;-)


	19. The Price of a Missing Baby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Uncle Jensen and Uncle Jared take Dean to the park in search of chicks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  
> 
> This chapter is supposed to be **mostly** fun; I hope you'll laugh.

"Sparkles and, or, glitter of any kind are forever banned from this house," Daddy says to Papa.

"No arguments from me."

I would have something to say, because that was kick-ass, but it's got to the point where even Uncle Jared mentioned he wants to hang a sign just before you enter the kitchen that says: 'Beware all who enter here. Ye be sparkled."

Sparkles are still everywhere. They seem to have multiplied in Daddy and Papa's bed, since I'd slept there that night, in the bathtub and kitchen, but have now been trekked through the whole house. Since Nana had insisted most of the staff be let off while the Colt crew and her are here, there are only the scant few members of staff and us to try and desparkle the whole damn house.

We've cleaned and cleaned for two days since, even I helped, but it seems like we're never gonna get all the sparkles out.

The funniest, was the next morning when Uncle Jensen and Uncle Jared came down to breakfast; they still had sparkles in their hair and Auntie Lulu told them they looked like her my little pony: Princess Twilight Sparkle. Everyone thought that was funny, even Jared and Jensen _after_ they'd had coffee.

Other than the great sparkle fiasco, the house has been busy with planning, baking, and other kinds of cleaning. Nana says we're going to have a big, country style barbeque. I can't wait. It sounds like it's going to be rad. The best part is, even I get to help prepare. I help Nana and Daddy clean, by dusting and sweeping. I've even been an assistant pie maker with Auntie Louisa, and Auntie Caroline showed me how to make cornbread—I've never seen so much cornbread in my life.

I've talked to Gramma Winchester on Facetime twice already. The first time to thank her for Pala, who didn't have a name yet, but the second to tell her we named her Pala. They haven't mentioned anything to Daddy and Papa about buying a second home here, where we live, so I don't know if they mean it or not, but I hope they, as Nana would say, 'let sleeping dogs lie.' I have a feeling Grampa Winchester doesn't let any dogs lie around, so he'll probably do something at some point.

"Hey, Dean. There you are, Sam. Sammy, we want to take Dean to the park," Uncle Jensen says picking me up.

Hey! I was dusting Uncle Jen. I whack him on the shoulder with my duster; he ignores me.

"It's 'may we take Dean to the park,' and the answer is, no you may not." Uh oh. Daddy has his 'Mama Bear' face on.

"Aww, c'mon Sammy. We'll take good care of him. You want to come, don't you Dean?" The way he says that, I know he means it's time for me to live up to my end of our 'deal.'

Daddy's already turned back to what he's doing. Papa's home today from work and is helping us too, I can see he's watching this whole thing play out, amused. He loves when Daddy's the Mama Bear and loves teasing him about it too. "No way, Jensen Ross."

Uh oh. Two names is never a good sign from Daddy. Forget about Uncle Jen.

Uncle Jared saunters in, trying to act like he doesn't know what's going on, but I know he does. "So, we ready to go to the park with the cub?"

"Apparently, we're not good enough to take him to the park," Uncle Jensen says for Daddy. "Now would be a good time to say something, kid," he whispers in my ear while Daddy's back is turned.

"You're not good enough to take him to the park. Soon as you see something more interesting, like a big set of knockers, my baby will be forgotten. No."

Oooohh. Daddy's getting pissed—especially for him to say something like 'knockers'. It's not a curse word, but it's about as close as he usually gets. This is hilarious, but I have to try not to laugh. Papa's also trying not to laugh and finding his cleaning job very interesting.

"Dah-dee," I say. "Dean, guh-on." Daddy spins around.

He stares at me shocked. "You want to go to the park with _these_ two?"

"Hey, _these_ two are right here," Uncle Jared says.

"Quiet. Dean?"

I take my soother out of my mouth for this one. "Yeah. Peas, Dah-dee." I'm pulling out all the stops. I can see Daddy's face twist into concern, but he hates saying no to me, especially when I use the 'magic' word. He sighs, heavy.

"Cas? What do you think?"

"He said, please Daddy." Papa has to bite his lip to keep from laughing.

But Daddy's not stupid, it's not like he fell off the turnip truck yesterday, or however Uncle Dal says that expression, he knows Papa wants to laugh at him and is teasing him; Papa gets Daddy's stink-eye.

"Fine. You may take my child to the park, but if anything happens to him, they'll never find your bodies."

Whoa! I think Daddy means it. Uncle Jared and Jensen look a bit scared—like maybe me helping them pick up chicks isn't worth the risk. Ha! If only Daddy knew that's what their plan is—he might murder them now.

"I'll go get you some things you'll need. Give'im here. I'll change his diaper before you go."

As Daddy walks away with me, I turn my head back to my uncles who are giving me the 'thumbs-up,' that is, until Papa puts an arm around each of them and drags them far out of Daddy's sight—I think they're in for a Papa style talking to. I've had those when I was bigger; they're not fun.

"Are you sure you want to go with them, baby boy? They aren't very responsible."

Yeah, I know that. But I fucking promised, so they won't tell you what's hidden in the secret compartment of the Impala. "Yeah, Dah-dee."

"All right, but stick with them, okay? Soon as something pretty walks by, they'll chase after it like Pala does sticks."

I start to feel bad about this whole thing when I can sense Daddy's worry as he changes my diaper. Usually he's chatting with me happily with lots of big smiles, but right now he's quiet and his eyes are red. Is he going to cry? But he's left me a few times… Oh. This is the first time I'm leaving him. Honestly, Daddy. I've got to grow up sometime.

But when he picks me up, I put a hand out to touch his cheek. "Lu-lu-luv. Llluv, Dah-dee." I've been saying 'Pala' a lot like a lot, a lot and that whole 'la' sounds been hard, but it's coming, just taking a _fucking_ long time. I wish some of the other sounds would be as easy.

"Love? Did you just say another word, Dean? Oh God, I love you too sweetheart, so darn much." He plants kisses all over my face and I giggle.

We agree we should go in Baby, Uncle Jen probably thinks it will increase his chances with getting laid and I have to agree. Baby helped me many a time. Daddy loads them up with my stroller and diaper bag. "He's already had his afternoon nap, but he gets kinda tired before dinner sometimes. You might want to think about heading back in an hour and a half. He can have a short nap in his stroller, but he'll probably refuse and then you'll have a fun cranky baby on your hands," Daddy says, smiling, but not in a nice way as he hands me to Uncle Jared. I think he hopes I'll be cranky for them.

"No way. We're fun, not like stuffy ol'Daddy. He won't get cranky with us."

"You'd better hope not." Daddy kisses my cheek. "Be good." He's not saying that to me, he's saying it to them.

"There are snacks for him in that bag, everything to change his diaper. He probably won't tell you, you'll have to ask him. I've already put sunscreen on him, but try and get him to wear the hat if it seems hot. There are toys in there too, but he probably won't want them."

"Chill out, Mama. We're going to the park, not the moon."

Daddy looks like he wants to cancel this whole fiasco and skin Uncle Jensen alive.

"Okay, Daddy. It's time to go inside and let your cub go have fun at the park," Papa says. He's smiling as he gives me a kiss too.

"Have fun with your uncles, Kiddo." He pulls Daddy to him. "C'mere Baby." He wipes something from Daddy's cheek and practically has to drag him away.

"Wow. Maybe this is a bad idea Jen."

"Naw, it'll be fine. We've got two of us, and just one kid. What's the worst that could happen?"

If I remember anything from my first life; it's that you never say those words, ever. I've got so much to teach these two.

~SDC~

When we get there, I see there are lots more kinds of kids than when Daddy and I have gone to the Moddler group. It's roughly after school, so there are some groups of 'big kids' loitering. One thing there is _no_ shortage of, are hot moms with their little ones. I don't know what these two yahoos are hoping for—most of these mommies are probably with a Daddy, or even another Mommy, but I don't think that matters to them so much.

The park is also a dog-walking park, so I guess they could get some game that way, but why didn't they just bring Pala? I would have lent her to them. I think I'll suggest it, because I don't think they really thought this through: Babes with dogs aren't necessarily babes into babies. And I don't see why they think they need my help in the first place. They are extremely good looking dudes. I don't think it would take any girl, or guy for that matter, too much convincing to fuck them.

But, whatever. I promised them this one outing, so I'm doing it.

But as it turns out, I'm pretty popular. The mothers flock to our threesome. "Look at _him._ Isn't he to die for? I just want to eat him."

Why do women always want to eat babies? It's fucking weird, but a lot of'em do.

"This is our nephew, Dean Winchester, ladies," Uncle Jen says making sure to tell them my surname. I roll my eyes. Even I know why they're doing that.

"Winchester? Like as in the rifle, Winchester?"

You should read that to say: 'Money? Like as in his parents and there by extension you two have money?' I think I'm going to be sick.

"That's the one."

They all coo over me 'till I decide to blow this Popsicle stand. They can hit on the ladies all they want now that I broke the ice for them, I want to get far away from these vultures. I kick and whine. "Off! Off!"

"What does that mean?" Uncle Jensen asks.

"I think he wants out," Uncle Jared says.

"Yeah!" I whine.

"Okay, okay. Don't get your panties in a twist," Uncle Jensen says quietly, so the pretty ladies don't hear him. He pulls me out and I point to the playground, "Uh!" I figure I should still ask. Daddy told me to keep my eye on them, if I just take off to the playground, who knows where they'll be next time I look around?

"Jared, you're up."

The look on Uncle Jared's face clearly says he doesn't want to be 'up,' but he can't say that and look back.

"Sure," he says tightly. "C'mon little bear."

"I'll come with you," a musical voice says; it's one of the pretty ladies. "My daughter is on the playground, maybe she can meet Dean."

Right. She's goo-gooing all over Uncle Jared. She probably has little interest in me meeting her daughter, except for maybe the idea of an 'arranged marriage' in the back of her mind for her daughter and me later, but for now she wants to spend time with my uncle.

"Sure."

I hold Uncle Jared's hand like I would hold Daddy's and I hear the pretty lady slipping into the conversation that she's a single Mommy. It doesn't make me want to vomit any less.

They sit on a bench by the edge of the playground. The lady points out her daughter to me, but makes no introduction—seriously. She doesn't know I'm a moddler and I definitely look my age since unfortunately I'm kind of small. Uncle Jared does, so he tells me to "run along and find Rachel, y'hear?" laying on his accent thick to impress Rachel's mama.

Fine. I guess I'm on my own. If only Daddy knew that within fifteen minutes of being at the park, _both_ of them have managed to ditch me…

I have no intentions of finding Rachel. I don't know if she's a moddler or a non-moddler and either way, I could be in for trouble—I'm still traumatized by the day I had to marry Brittany. But I know my way around here pretty good now. Gramma Winchester had brought me here a few times in addition to the times I've been here with Daddy and Papa.

I do keep my eyes on them, like Daddy said, at least I try to, but I'm barely two and have the attention span of a gnat. I see a few interesting things to climb, things that Daddy would either not let me climb, or stand very close behind me while I climbed.

I actually do okay, 'till I fall a short distance, but thankfully don't whack anything important. I do have some scratches on my arms. I've climbed the ladder to the slide lots—that's one of the things that Daddy stands behind me for. But I want to go up _now._ Uncle Jared looks like he's closing the deal and I have no idea where Uncle Jen is, so I decide to do it myself.

The first rungs are easy, but there are ten and it's pretty high. When I go for the third step my foot slips a little and I fall on my ass. That fucking hurt. I whine a little, but no one's watching me, no one's around to kiss it better. I wipe the tears away and pick myself up. Okay, even I'm not stupid enough to try that again, what if I fall from the tenth step? I guess Daddy helps me more than I thought.

But I want the slide, so what should I do?

I look around thinking I could get another parent, or even a big kid to help, when I spy someone familiar standing in a group with some other kids. The kids he's standing with look older than he is, like maybe they're teenagers, I'm a bit scared to go over there, it's kinda far from the playground, near the foresty area that's kinda shady looking, but I'm also compelled. With a last look to make sure Uncle Jared's occupied (though I don't know why I bothered) I run in Michael's direction.

Actually, I'm so fucking happy to see him, I run really fast. When I'm at his feet, I tug at his pant leg and jut my arms out, so he'll know to pick me up. "Mine," I say.

"Uh… Mikey, I think someone's here to see you?"

Michael looks down at me. "Dean?"

"Mine," I repeat.

He glares at me, while the other boys laugh. "What are you doing? Where are your daddies?"

"Guh-on," I say. "Uh!" I point to the slide.

"I can't play with you right now kid. I—"

I'm already tearing up at those words. How fucking dare he? I came all the way over to see him.

He huffs. "Fuck. Fine. I'll be right back guys—I'm just going to take this brat to his parents."

He doesn't pick me up; he practically drags me by my hand back to the playground. Asshole.

"Where are they, Dean?"

I shrug. If he's going to be a dillhole, I'm going to ruin his fun at the park for as long as I can.

He's looking around for them; my parents and I take a quick scan for Uncle Jared, who was at the edge of the playground a moment ago, but isn't there anymore. Did they leave me here? My stomach only drops for a second until I realize how safe I feel with Michael, even if I've only met him once.

"Quit dicking around. Where are they? Look, you don't want to hang out with those kids I'm hanging out with—even I shouldn't be. There's no way I'm letting you near them. So just tell me okay?"

All right fine, but he's taking me down the slide at least once. I point to it meaningfully; he catches my drift. "Fine. One time then we go get your parents, deal?"

"Yeah," I say. He follows behind me up the ladder to the slide and it's a good thing too, my foot slips a couple times and he has to catch me. When I make it to the top I slide down myself, but he waits at the bottom for me smiling crookedly.

"You sure know how to get what you want. Now where are your parents?"

That's when a very flustered and scared looking, pair of Colt twins come running toward us. "There he is," Uncle Jen says out of breath.

"Sweet Lord, Dean," Uncle Jared says.

"Thanks kid. We'll take it from here. Run along now." That's Uncle Jen of course.

Suddenly Michael is different. He grabs me up and holds me to him; his face is full of fury. "Who the fuck, are you two?"

"We're his uncles, you little puke."

"Jen, he's just a kid. Let me talk to him. What's your name little guy?"

Oh, Uncle Jared. Better, but I think that's just going to piss him off more. "None of your fucking business is what my name is. You have 'till the count of three to get the hell away from him, or I'll start screaming rape. None of us want that, but most especially you two."

"I'm going to kill this kid—"

"Shut-up, Jen. Whoa, whoa whoa kid wait. You're right, we don't want that, but just, ask him, ask Dean who we are."

Michael stares them up and down for a long minute then turns to me. "Do you know these two assclowns Dean? Are they really your uncles?"

I nod. "Yeah."

Michael's still not impressed. "I'm still not giving him to you. You fucking lost him. What if I wasn't here, huh? What if someone else had found him, huh?"

His hands are digging into me, possessively. "I'll give him to his parents and no one else. If you're really his uncles, which I still don't believe, you can call Mr. and Mr. Winchester. They can come get him from me. I can wait."

Uncle Jared and Uncle Jensen are fucked.

And there's no way he doesn't believe they're my uncles, it's hard to miss that Uncle Jared looks _exactly_ like Daddy. Michael's just being a shithead, since Uncle Jensen wasn't so nice to him and Uncle Jared (albeit unintentionally) infantilized him.

"This is ridiculous, Jared. Just take him from the kid. Come on Dean, come to Uncle Jen."

"Raahh—"

"Shh… kid, stop! Jensen, shut up!"

Michael gives them a smile that says he knows who's in charge here.

"Look, kid. Please. You're right. We messed up, big time. And we're so sorry, but this scared the fuck out of us and we're not going to make the same mistake twice. Please give us another chance?"

"I want to, but see, here's the thing. I don't trust you. Dean's my friend and I don't want anything bad to happen to him."

I'm _his_ friend? I thought he was just mine. I didn't think he liked me all that much.

"Nothing bad will happen. How 'bout this? We're going to take him home right now. You can walk us to the car; we'll put him directly into his car seat and go? Okay? You never have to see our stupid faces again."

Michael thinks about it. "That his stroller?"

Things look hopeful for them, so they begin rolling out the red carpet for him, even Uncle Jensen. "Yeah. It's his and his diaper bag too."

Michael walks over and puts me in doing up the straps himself.

"Let's go then."

Uncle Jared and Jensen lead the way with Michael pushing me. And I think the whole thing is fucking amusing. When we get to the car, Michael insists that he put me in my car seat even though it's clear he has never done it before. But no one says anything to him—he's in-fucking-charge and he knows it. He does figure it out, it's not rocket science, but it took him a lot longer than it would have taken someone with experience. "You okay, Dean?" He asks.

"Yeah."

"I really don't want to leave you with these jerks."

"Okay, thanks, kid. Look we really appreciate you finding him for us…"

"I didn't find him for _you._ " Michael surprises us all by crawling across the scant amount of room by my feet into Baby and on the other side of my car seat.

"What are you doing kid?" Uncle Jensen says, clearly trying to refrain from the rampage that he wants to unleash on said kid.

"What does it look like? I'm coming with you."

~SDC~

Cas ordered me away from the window already, but it doesn't mean I can stop thinking about him. I love my brothers and I know they'd never do anything to Dean _intentionally_ but they have a tendency get sidetracked.

When I hear the Impala's distinctive engine, I look over to Cas who has been watching me like a hawk since Dean's left and he nods smiling. I run to the door. Pala comes with me, already having missed her boy too. It's very interesting. She's learned to play with the other kids and not to knock Dean down quite so much, but I feel like she _knows_ she's Dean's. Is that thing? She always seems to know where he is and the first thing she's learned is his name. She doesn't even really know her name yet.

Thank the Lord they're back. I was beginning to go crazy, even if they haven't been gone all that long.

Immediately I notice they've got an extra person with them, someone I know. They're all piling out and I know something's wrong—my daddy senses are tingling—but I have no idea what. Also, _Michael_ who I think is only about eight, is the one taking my baby out of the car seat. Jared looks flustered; Jensen looks pissed.

"Dah-dee!" Dean says when he sees me. Other than a little dirt and a few scrapes, which is common after a trip to the playground—especially for boys, but more especially for Dean—he looks fine.

"Dean!" I kiss him all over and he giggles. "Hi Michael," I say.

"Hello Mr. Winchester, sir."

Jensen scowls at Michael further.

"What's going on?"

" _Michael_ wanted to come over and play with Dean. I hope that was okay," Jensen says with a mixture of sarcasm and rigidity.

"Yeah that's fine. Michael, does your father know where you are?"

"I texted him on my way over Mr. Winchester. He knows."

Mama makes her way to the front door too. "There's my sweet potaytah." Dean dives across to Nana who takes him. "Who've we got here?"

"This is Dean's friend Michael, Mama," I say.

"Well, a friend of Dean's is a friend of the Colt's. Come on in. We're going to have dinner soon. Would you like to stay?"

Michael looks meaningfully at Jensen. "I'd love to. Thank-you Mrs. Colt."

"Oh no dear. Call me Nana, all the kids do." She brings Dean and Michael inside, with an excited Pala nipping at their heels, trying to get to Dean. Jensen and Jared are trying to make a subtle escape.

"I don’t think so, I'm no fool. What happened?"

They look between each other trying to figure out their story, or rather, their _new_ story, since they know I'm not going to believe whatever thing they thought they were going to tell me.

"But we want to live to see our next birthdays. Please Sammy, could we just let this go? He's home safe," Jensen says.

"No. We're not letting it go. What happened?"

Still nothing. "Should I ask Michael?"

"We lost, Dean," Jared says.

" _You what?_ "

"We only turned our heads for a second and he was gone," Jen says.

That doesn't sound anything like Dean. He does get into trouble, I know that, but he's usually got two eyes on Daddy. He wouldn't 'take off.'

Jared sees I'm not taking that as an acceptable explanation. "We were chick-hunting and lost track of him." Jensen punches his arm.

"What? We're caught Jen—besides that kid's totally going to rat us out anyway."

"Okay boys, from the beginning."

I finally get what I think I can consider a close recount of events, though I'm sure if Dean could tell me, his story would have some differences. In any case, by the end I want to kill them both and give Michael a whole batch of Mama's cookies for finding him. Thank the Lord for that kid; he's officially in my good books.

Jensen and Jared on the other hand; I'm going to kill slowly.

I knock their heads together like I used to when I lived at home. "What is the matter with you two?"

"We're sorry."

"Not as sorry as you're going to be." I cross my arms over my chest. They know what that means.

"But… you can't, we're twenty-four, Sammy."

"Don't Sammy, me. You lost my baby trying to pick up women. Man up and pay the price."

They both look at each other, then their shoes and kick the ground. "But we don't want to, we're too old for… _that,_ " Jen says.

"Not in this house, remember? No one's too old." I say lifting my brows. Certain aspects of my and Cas's relationship are no secret to anyone. Not that anyone in our families, but the Winchester's, truly understands the discipline aspect of our relationship, but we've made my family aware of some things—as you can see, they're pretty open-minded. Over time, it got too hard to hide all of it and Cas and I are not ashamed of our lifestyle, even if we keep quiet about it for the most part, so as not to make others uncomfortable. "Tell you what, you let me punish you how I see fit, and Cas doesn't have to be involved."

It's an easy decision for them after that. "Yeah, yeah," Jen says.

"Like, here?" Jare asks.

"Not here."

"Don't tell me you guys have some kind of woodshed or something…" Jensen says.

I can't help laughing despite how enraged I am at them. "No woodshed."

"Look, we really are sorry, Sam."

"You lost my child, doing something stupid, Jared. A tanned hide would be the least of your worries if anything had happened to him. I think you should also shower Michael in diamonds or something."

"No way. You can spank my ass, Sam, but I'm not kissing that kid's ass. He's bad news. I can feel it."

I look at Jared to see if there's any truth to that, or if Jen's just pissed off 'cause he was taken down by an eight-year-old. He shrugs. "He was pretty protective of Dean, which I can't say is a bad thing considering the situation—he didn't know us, he did the right thing, but I dunno Sam. There's something about him I can't name. Just, keep an eye out, okay?"

Huh. Didn't expect that. "Okay."

~SDC~

Nana comes in with Dean, and an excited puppy and… Michael? "Pah-pa!" I take Dean from Nana Colt.

"Hey Kiddo. Looks like you've brought a friend."

"Hello Mr. Winchester. Pleased to make your acquaintance again," he says with a firm handshake.

Right. He's a moddler I remember, at least that's what Sam said he thought. We really don't know anything about Michael. "Hello again young man. You have very nice manners." Christ. I sound like my father more and more every day.

"Thank-you, sir. Mrs. Colt, Nana, was kind enough to invite me for dinner."

She's already got him calling her Nana. She never wanted me calling her Mrs. Colt either, but there was no way I was going to have it get back to my parents that I was calling her by her Christian name. My father would have skinned my backside. She had to settle for Mrs. Colt until Sam and I married.

Even now I'm more prone to calling her Mama than Adelaide, or Adel and often refer to her as Nana since I'm often speaking to Dean about her. Michael's reserved about it too. He's not comfortable calling her Nana—I get the strong impression it's for the same reasons I had growing up—but Nana is far more acceptable than a first name. I think he's waiting to see if it's okay with me.

"If Nana's invited you, there's no saying 'no' to her. Welcome."

Dean puts his arms out to Michael. "Mine?"

Mine? I'm not sure what he means by that. "Yes, he's your friend, Kiddo." I pass him over to Michael and Dean looks a little heavy in his arms. The kid's tall for his age and looks strong, but I don't think he's going to have the same endurance to carry Dean the adults around here do. "Don't let him con you into carrying him everywhere. That boy's spoiled as they come."

Dean gives me a dirty look. I ruffle his hair. "You know it, kiddo. Don't even try to deny it."

Michael puts Dean down and takes his hand and the puppy who's been waiting impatiently, jumps up to lick Dean's face. "No, Pah-la," Dean whines.

"Off," Michael says in a firm voice. I know that kind of voice. He isn't just helping Dean; he's protecting Dean and trying very hard to hide it—but he can't hide from me. I've lived that. This kid is good, I can tell. In fact, I think he's good enough, he can hide it from Sam.

It both comforts and worries me. I know this kid won't let any harm befall my son, but… _they're just kids Cas, calm down._ "Why don't you two take the puppy outside and get her to run off some of that energy before dinner? It's fenced in all around Michael, Pala can run wherever she wants on the property without a leash."

"Sure Mr. Winchester. C'mon Dean."

~SDC~

"Where's Dean?" Sam says freaking out.

"Calm down, Baby. He's out there with his bodyguard, Michael. Dal, Hunter and Lily Faye are out there too."

"Oh. What do you think of Michael?"

I pull Sam in carefully; he _is_ still healing, and kiss his lips. "I think he'll take good care of Dean while they're outside."

Sam misses my non-committal response. "Still, maybe I should go out there."

"You don't trust him, Baby? What happened?"

"It's a long story, Cas. Fill you in tonight before bed?"

He knows how hard it's going to be for me to wait that long. He must be exhausted to ask that and when I look closer, I can see it—he needs me. He needs what only I can give him. "Of course. On the condition you stay in, drink tea and rest a bit—dinner's soon I think." He knows I'm not really _asking_ him, but especially in front of his family, I take a gentler approach. They may understand our relationship to a point, but I know how hard it is to really understand what Sam and I have unless you live it. I know they'd only listen to so much of me firmly telling Sam what I expect without knocking me one.

"Thirty minutes," Mama Colt says.

"I'll run out and call everyone in Sammy," Louisa says. "And make sure the baby gets washed up."

"Thanks, Louisa. Yes, I'll rest Cassy."

Louisa leaves to get the kids and a sheepish looking Jared and Jensen make their way into the kitchen. Both are in jogging pants, both look at the hard wooden bench hesitantly, exchange a look and with a resignation that can only be described as brave, they sit, wince and squirm.

What the hell happened? I look at Sam again. "Please, Cassy? Later."

Now I'm on edge, but I reserve my tension as much as I can. It's more important I'm calm for Sam.

All the kids come piling in; Dean looks a bit like pigpen from the Peanuts. Sam starts to jump up, but I give him a look to remind him of what I asked. I'm not 'taking him away from Dean' like my parents did; I'm just getting him to realize he is over taxing himself; he will if I let him and hide it from his whole family, including, sometimes, his mama. He needs to lean on us all a little more than he has been. He knows and lets me get up to take care of Dean, but even I'm relieved of Dean duty.

"Uh-uh brother Cas. I've barely got a chance to visit with my nephew, please, allow me to wash up the little mud-pie? I already told you I would." Louisa asks politely, but I know she's not going to take no for an answer.

"Thanks, Louisa."

She scoops him up and whisks him off to the nursery. Michael follows.

Jared and Jensen are awfully quiet. They're normally the life of the party, but now, Jamie and Hunter have taken over as 'family clowns' and entertain us. I watch Michael closely; he's utterly polite and thoughtful; he gets along well with everyone even if he's a little quiet and reserved. Though I suppose anyone is in comparison to the Colts. This kid's got some kind of presence for his young age. I suppose it's the fact he's a moddler. Michael's lived before, he might be eight in this life, but who knows how old he feels inside. Is that what we can expect from Dean as he ages? The topic of Moddler growth and dynamics is every bit as controversial as the whole 'Nature Nurture' debate. It's hard to tell just which characteristics carry through from the child's old life and what's from the new.

I think I have to agree with my father. I do think Dean can make decisions based on his past life experiences, but I agree with Sam in that those decisions are muddled in their maturity due to the Modlenol effects. In any case, it's too much of a grey area to argue—I'd just be arguing semantics. But meeting Michael inspires me to think about it.

"Fudge, Michael, does your daddy know you're staying for dinner?" Sam asks, always the mother hen.

"Of course Mr. Winchester."

"You don't have to call me Mr. Winchester Michael, not after what you did for Dean today. Please call me Sam."

After what he did for Dean today? It's getting harder to wait for my explanation. It better be good Samuel.

"I appreciate that Mr. Winchester, but my father wouldn't like to hear that I call anyone, my senior, by their first name."

That's when Jensen finally does speak, but it's a mumble only his twin can decipher, Jared elbows him to shut-up.

I feel a strange sense of pride in myself for having been able to deduce that little bit. But it's not really driven home what that might mean until Mama Colt says, "Look at that." Her eyes are pointedly on me. "Why, if we don't have a mini-Castiel on our hands?"

That makes me swallow the wrong way, I start choking and have to drop my fork; it's all very loud and attention drawing even amidst the already loud dinner table. A few loud coughs and a swallow of milk later, I'm okay, but I heard Mama Colt loud and clear.

"Yeah and look at him Mama," Lulu agrees. "He's already been made an honorary Colt. He's got sparkles all over his face and in his hair." That spurs the checking, if one of us finds sparkles on the other it's bound to mean others of us have them too.

"Yeah, you've got some too, Cas," Sam says.

"And look at Dean," Dal says. "They're all over his hands."

Everyone continues to find sparkles on the other, and we find that several others of us are beglittered—when are those cursed things going to disappear?—but I can't help thinking… no… Dean wouldn't… _'Mine,' he said._

I don't want to think like that; he's barely two, but the fact remains that they're on Dean's hands and in Michael's hair and on his face. Did Dean, _mark_ him with glitter?

No. The God Damn glitter ends up in the strangest places. I've ended up with some on my damn cock even though I've been wearing PJ's knowing it's infested our bed. It spreads like a plague. I don't want to believe it. He's too young to _pick_ someone.

Except I picked Sam when I was five; the same time he picked me. I'm suddenly not very hungry. The whole table's still laughing about sparkles, even Jared and Jensen finally begin to perk up. I look at Dean. No one sees it except for me, but while the whole table is lit up with the special kind of fun energy that only the Colts can produce, Dean's not paying attention to any of it, just Michael, as Michael chats politely with Sam, like Michael's Dean's whole world.

~SDC~

I don't know what Daddy did to my uncles, but they won't come near me and that's making me sad. Sure I was pissed at them earlier, they fucking ditched me, but they're a ton of fun and I want to play with them again. Maybe we can play another round of 'toss-the-Dean?'

Michael and I are playing blocks. I'm surprised he's still here. I know he only came along to get back at my uncles for being dicks to him. He barely pays attention to me and only when someone's looking. In fact, he spent most of his time playing with Hunter and Lily Faye, since they're closer in age to him and I'm probably not all the much fun since I'm just a fucking baby. I saw him looking lots at Auntie Caroline through dinner; it's hard not to, she's so pretty.

I was actually a bit mad that he wasn't paying much attention to me, so when I noticed a bunch of sparkles in a corner of the kitchen, I doused my hands in them and demanded he put me in my highchair—that's when I got him. All over his face and some in his hair. He didn't know what I was doing, 'till Lulu pointed it out. I smirked at him across the table. Asshole.

He's only playing blocks with me now because he's _supposed_ to be here with me, that and a lot of the grown-ups are around. Fuck him. I'm going to go make nice with Uncle Jared and Uncle Jensen. I stand up.

"Hey, Dean. Where are you going?"

Like it's any of his fucking business.

"Hey, you owe me. It's going to take forever for me to get these sparkles out of my hair."

Yeah. That was pretty cruel and awesome, but okay. I point to my uncles.

"Why do you want to speak with them? They lost you. If my _friends_ had found you and I wasn't there, you might not be around Dean. Some of them like to pick on little kids." His voice is hard and cold. Why does he hang out with people like that anyway?

I give him my best fuck you look. He can't stop me without causing a scene.

"All right fine, but at least let me come with you?"

I hold up my still sparkeled hand, now he'll have sparkles on his hand. We walk together over to my uncles. Uncle Jensen still looks like he wants to chop Michael up into pieces, Uncle Jared looks happy to see me.

"He wants to see you," Michael says, the 'but I don't know why' is left unsaid, but I can hear it. I may be young, but I'm not stupid.

Jared looks up to Daddy and Daddy nods. "We're so sorry little bear. You have no idea. Can you forgive us?"

"Yeah, stud. What we did was unbelievably stupid. It will never happen again. Your daddy made sure we learned our lesson."

Daddy always makes sure people learn their lessons. He's a good Daddy. "Yeah." Which means that I forgive them. They both reach out to hug me, I have to pull really hard for Michael to let go of my hand, but he does.

"Thanks Dean," they both say at the same time.

Michael pulls out his phone, checks it then says, "I think my father is just around the corner, I'd better say goodnight now. Thanks for a wonderful meal Mr. and Mr. Winchester. You'll tell… Nana for me? I'd really better go now."

"Here I'll walk you out," Papa says.

"Not necessary, Mr. Winchester, though much appreciated. He's down the block; I'm going to walk to him. He doesn't like waiting, I'll meet up with him."

"Okay, but it's kind of dark."

"I'll be okay, really. My father is more than okay with me walking in the dark, but if you really feel you'd like to…"

"His father is okay with it, Cas. Let the kid be," Uncle Jensen says, because he doesn't know when to shut up. He gets a dirty look from Daddy, but Daddy is clearly tired and a bit cranky himself, he lets it go.

I can tell that irritated Papa too, but he's more worried about Daddy right now than anything, so he leaves it.

And I know Uncle Jensen isn't interested in helping Michael, the war is clearly still on between them, he just wants Michael gone and out of his hair for life.

I don't really want him to go. Sure I was pissed at him a second ago. "No, guh-on. Dah-dee…" I whine.

Daddy's no help. "Sounds like perfect timing," he says. "I think it's time for Dean to get ready for beddy byes. Let's go change your bum."

Jesus Christ Daddy. Could you be anymore embarrassing? I don't go 'beddy byes,' Daddy. Michael already thinks I'm just a little puke, saying stuff like that makes it more apparent. And 'change my bum?' Do you have to announce it to the whole freaking country? I glare at him.

"I'll see you around Dean."

Yeah, I know what that means; he has no intentions of hanging out with me again. I don't even say bye, even though I can. I just try not to cry. Uncle Jamie, who never seems to want to hang out with me, at least not alone, decides it's the right time for him to offer his help. "Here, you and I will walk him to the door, okay Dean?"

Uncle Jamie offers me his hand, but I stubbornly reach for Michael's who has no choice but to take it since everyone's watching and we walk to the door. I can't say anything. Somehow I know this is goodbye-goodbye. At least he looks like he feels somewhat bad and he should. He's the first friend I've even remotely liked at the playground and he doesn't even want to be my friend. When his shoes are on, he sighs. "Look Dean…" He huffs. "This is stupid, you're just a baby."

"Hey, watch it," Jamie says.

"Don't worry, I'm leaving." He removes something from around his neck and puts it over mine. It's on a leather throng; it's a weird looking gold Buddha sort of face, with horns. It's pretty much the ugliest thing I've ever seen. "That's a special amulet, it will protect you." He ruffles my hair with his sparkled hand. "Take care, Dean."

I watch him walk to the end of the driveway and to the road. There's not a car in sight. His father isn't coming to pick him up; hell, who knows if his father really knows he was here in the first place?

Uncle Jamie picks me up. "It's okay, Dean. That kids a jerk. C'mon, should we throw that piece of junk away?"

What? He wants to throw away my fucking necklace? Over my dead body. I clutch ugly-face in my little fist. "No, mine!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... A couple things. 
> 
> 1) I'm sorry if you feel I've misused the "Samulet." I know the significance of the Samulet (hence its nic) is that it came from Sam, but since it's kind of a 'Hoo-doo' item, and this Sam's not quite into that kind of stuff as Real Sam from the show, I thought it more fitting it come from Michael (aaaannnd maybe that's a hint). I still wanted Dean to have it. ;-) So is it a Mike-u-let in this story? LOL
> 
> 2) I promise there will be NO "adult stuffs" between Michael and Dean while he's little bitty. That relationship is going to build slow. I want to get sort of a Justin and Brian from Queer as Folk thing going between them. But they will be "friends-not-friends' for a bit. Michael clearly is protective of Dean, so there will be this understanding that if you mess with Dean, you mess with Michael, but Michael won't exactly be "nice" to Dean, so Dean will wonder about their "relationship" for a long time. 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed!


	20. Throw the Demon out with the Bath Water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean has to figure out a way to tell everyone what Crowley really did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of us were missing Dean and Daddy time and so was I! This is a happy medium, since I did not want to get rid of the Colts yet. 
> 
> I have posted a 'Prequel-Timestamp' for those of you who have not seen it yet. It's the calm before the Sam and Cas storm ;-)
> 
> Also, I think it will make Cas and Sam make a little bit more sense.

I'm exhausted. Just thinking about what could have happened to Dean with those two morons I'm blood related to; drained me. I was able to stave Cas off all night, but now I've got to tell him.

He's already got that look in his eye, the one that says: 'No more stalling Samuel.'

There's no way I can put this off any longer. My husband is a smart man and from some of what he's picked up on already, it's probably just made him angrier.

"Cas I…"

" _Now_ , Baby."

I sigh heavily. "Jared and Jensen lost Dean."

His expression goes eerily calm, but his eyes are black. "They lost my fucking son? What the fuck happened, Sam?"

I expected as much. Wait 'till I tell him the rest. I tell him everything I know, including the parts about how I tanned their sorry hides.

My husband is silent as stone; I think he's planning their murder.

"I went pretty hard on them, Cas. Couldn't you tell how hard it was for them to sit at dinner?" I'm hoping that will calm him, but I'm not sure anything will. I know a bit of how Cas thinks and operates. Inside, he's going a bit crazy thinking of any number of terrible things that _could_ have happened to Dean.

"I would have appreciated if you'd told me this particular thing sooner, Samuel. I had a right to know they lost our son as soon as fucking possible."

Wait, what? He's mad at me?

"Not to mention, that was an awfully physical punishment for you to deliver when you're still healing."

"I'm sorry Cas. I was drained and freaking out." I don't have an excuse for the rest—I did know better; I decided to do it anyway.

"I don't doubt that's true, which is all the more reason for you to enlist my assistance. Immediately. Not when it was _convenient_ for you. But now I realize that's not the only reason why you didn't tell me. You figured you'd already handled it; that telling me was merely an unpleasant something on your checklist of dealing with this situation; you'd do it when you _had to_."

"I… No, Cas…" Is that what I did? Oh, God, I think that is what I did. With my family around, it's so easy to fall back into old roles.

"You knew how angry I'd be. Were you protecting them Sam? I was under the impression you trusted me, but clearly _still_ not when it involves your siblings."

"No, Cas. That's not true I—"

"Did I say I was finished?"

I shake my head.

"You don't handle _big_ things like this in our home without consulting me, do you? That's my job. I thought we decided that together, or was there a board meeting I've missed, Sam? Because this makes me feel like you don't respect our rules at all."

"I do. I do respect our rules, Cas, I'm sorry."

He's quiet for a few moments. "We can fix this. I know you already punished them, but I want to talk with them both."

Fudge. I'm going to have to tell Cas this next part, but now that I'm thinking more levelly, I realize the folly in my actions. "I kind of promised them you wouldn't get involved." I wince.

"Why would you promise that? It wasn't your promise to make." That's about as loud as Cas gets. It's still not yelling by most standards, but Winchester's don't need to raise their voices for you to take them seriously.

"I…" He's right. It wasn't. I completely made that decision without him and worse; it had everything to do with Dean. If it were the other way around, I'd be furious. "Cas I'm sorry, I didn't mean to I—"

"I get it Sam. I know you can't even help it when you're with your family, I understand we'll always end up here in that regard, but it still doesn't excuse it."

"I know. How can I fix it Cas? Do you need to talk to them? I can—"

"They lost our son. Do you have any idea what's that does to someone like _me_?" He's mad and worse, he's mad _at_ me too and I totally deserve it. Because I do know what it does, very well. Fudge, now I'm crying, which is more unfair. It's Cas's one true weakness and the reason I avoid it at all costs, he'll drop anything when I'm crying, this kind of crying—just like his father does for his mother. But I don't want him to just forgive me; I can't live with that. I also can't stop crying.

"It's okay. Baby? It's okay, I'm not mad—"

"Yes, you are."

"Anymore. I'm not mad anymore. I was mad at first, but it's not a big deal. What you did to resolve it? That's exactly how I would have said to deal with it in the end; I'm sure you knew that. Right Baby?"

He pulls me into his arms of course and I can't stop crying. "I'm sorry, Cas."

"I know, just please stop crying, Baby. Let's just forget it." But his entire body is tense, like a loaded spring. And as much as Cas would like to forget it, we don't work that way.

"You know we can't forget it Cas." This will eat us both alive.

"I'll figure something out, but in the mean time, please Baby?"

Right. The crying. It's killing him. I nod and wipe my tears away, but the feeling doesn't leave me, it pools in my gut. Recognizing the look on my face, Cas doesn't let me sit with that feeling long; his ingenuity kicks in.

"Actually, Baby. I have an idea."

Fudge. That look on his face, can only mean one thing.

"And I _am_ going to have a chat with your brothers. Warn them if you want; but either way, they're going to know how I feel too."

He sighs, pulling me into him carefully, still all tense. "What's your pain like, Baby?"

I know he's not even considering sex right now. He's not going to like my answer. "Well I drank a bunch of tea, but it's still a six."

" _Samuel._ "

"I know—I'm sorry. We've already established that I've messed up."

"As much as my parents went overboard, at least they were able to keep you from hurting yourself like this," he huffs.

I nod into his crown.

"Let's get you in the bath Baby. Then I'm putting you to bed."

~SDC~

No one felt comfortable having me sleep with my new necklace saying I'd choke. Please. Of all the fucking stupidity. So I did what any baby would do, I threw a fit. It was the best temper tantrum I've thrown yet—do they have Toddler Academies?

Not that the tantrum got me what I wanted. Daddy, Papa _and_ apparently Nana don't give into babies who throw tantrums. It did get me a compromise. Michael's necklace now hangs beside my crib. When I get up, I get to put it on in the morning.

Today's going to be another day of 'school' with Nana, Daddy and the other kids. It's not really school, so much as it's them doing their homework and asking questions when needed, but Nana always sets up a little desk for me too and tries to teach me things. I'm not doing very well and I know why. I was hoping it wouldn't come to this, where I'd have to tell them, but they're getting increasingly worried about me, considering consulting the doctor _and_ Daddy's funky naturopath guy. So, I've been thinking of a way to tell the adults.

At first I liked school, but then it got kind of boring, not to mention I suck at it. I can't say any of the words they want me too. It's also increasingly becoming an experiment. "What else can't Dean do? Do you remember what so-and-so-was doing at that age? He/she wasn't a moddler, so in comparison, Dean should be beyond that, shouldn’t he?" Blah, blah, fucking blah on and on and so forth. It's starting to piss me off—hence I've been getting cranky during 'school.'

Daddy comes into my room and something's different about him. No. Not different, the same. This Daddy's a lot more like the Daddy I had before Gramma and Grampa came to visit. Huh. I point to my necklace. "Uh!"

"I know you know how to use your manners—you showed me that quite nicely yesterday when you were asking to go to the park with your uncles. How about giving that a try?"

I scowl at him. What's wrong with him today? "Uh!" I try again, stubbornly.

"That's okay, sweetheart. We can get the necklace when you're ready to use your nice manners." He lifts me out and brings me to the fucking change table with _out_ my necklace.

I glare at him the whole time and he has the audacity to laugh at me. "Just say please, baby boy," he says as he takes both my ankles in one hand and lifts my soiled diaper away.

"No!"

"Dean Winchester." He gives me a look I'm not used to seeing from Daddy anymore, it's not scary like Papa or Grampa Winchester's look, but it clearly says he's disappointed in me. I don't know why I should feel sad, but I do and start to tear up.

"Peas, Dah-dee," I say with a little sniffle.

"There's my good boy." He quickly plucks the necklace from where it hangs; hands it to me; and carries on with changing my diaper and gets me dressed. I clutch ugly face in my fist. Daddy will help me put it on when he's done with my diaper I'm sure. "You know Dean, when you use the 'magic' words, you get everything you want."

Everything, Daddy? Has Daddy forgotten he's talking to Dean Winchester? I will take him literally if I need to.

Daddy brings me downstairs to the usual chaos that has become our kitchen in the mornings. Nana's cooking with the girls, Dally is helping them this morning. The big twins are entertaining the little twins, Lulu's with Pala and Jamie's setting the table.

Papa enters the kitchen, already wearing his trench coat and looking rushed, but I notice he takes the time to glare at Uncle Jared and Jensen. _So. He knows._ "There's my boy," he greets me. "Hey Baby," he says to Daddy.

Daddy feels a tad ridged when he sees Papa. Papa notices. "I don’t think so, Sam. Everything's under control here, how about you and Dean walk me out." Papa's not asking. What the hell is going on?

"Just you wait a minute, Castiel Winchester," Nana says. "Take this with you—you can't leave without breakfast." She hands him a paper bag.

"Thanks Mama Colt." He kisses her cheek.

We walk Papa to the front door. "Are you comfortable, Baby?"

"No."

"Something, hurting?"

"No, it's just. I hate this thing, Cas and you know it."

Huh? What thing?

"Good. Sounds effective."

"Cas… When are you going to be home?"

"For dinner."

"And then you'll…"

"That's not what I said. I believe I said when I get home I'll decide if you're ready to take it off."

What the fuck?

"Whatev—"

"Right. So we'll decide tomorrow after dinner then."

Daddy shuts his piehole after that. "Bye Kiddo. Be a good boy." Papa kisses my head and I look between the two of them. They just had one of those 'secret in front of their kid conversations' didn't they? You know what? I probably don't want to fucking know. I trust Daddy and Papa; their business is their business.

"Make sure your daddy rests today Dean. He seems to have forgotten he's still healing, but you'll keep an eye on him for Papa. Won't you?"

I know he's kinda saying that for Daddy's benefit too. "Yeah, Pah-pa."

"I'll take a nap with Dean today, Cassy," Daddy assures him.

After breakfast, we're all outside doing our 'homework,' well the big kids are, Daddy sat me in my chair and told me he'd be back in a minute. We've got a big picnic bench set up, but the bigger kids have been told they're allowed to go wherever (under a tree, by the playground, on the grass) so long as they get their work done and ask for help if they need it.

I don't quite have the same freedoms. For one, the things I'm supposed to learn have to be taught to me, so I can't exactly be left to my own devices like the 'big kids.' Sometimes when I get too frustrated to carry on, I can leave my little 'desk' set up (I've got a small chair and table Uncle Dallas helped Daddy bring outside for me), but someone needs to know where I am.

Uncle Jared and Jensen are close by today. I think they're trying to make it up to Daddy for yesterday. They already know I forgive them and I'm pretty sure Daddy has too, but they still feel bad. So Uncle Jared's reading under a tree and Uncle Jensen's playing fetch with Pala.

Daddy returns with the stupid stack of learning cards; the ones with pictures and words on them; the ones he uses to torture me. "Okay, Dean Bean. You ready to learn some words?" Daddy says. But I'm not. I'm tired of this shit and just want to go play with Uncle Jensen and Pala. Time to see if the 'magic' words work like Daddy said they would.

"Peas, Dah-dee. No. Pah-la," I say and point to where Uncle Jen is.

He knows what I mean; he winces. "Fudge."

"What's a matter, Sammy?" Uncle Dallas asks.

"I told him the 'magic' words will get him what he wants. He took it literally."

Uncle Dallas laughs. "That's not like you."

It's so not fair; the position I've put Daddy in that is. I know he really wants me to use manners, but he also really wants me to learn words and whatever the fuck else they had planned for me today. Sometimes they take me to the playground on our propety and try to get me to do stuff there too. That's a little more promising, since I seem to be able to do a little more physical stuff, but not by much.

"Apparently I'm doing lots of things that aren't 'like me' these days," he sighs. Okay, okay, I feel sorry for Daddy… but not sorry enough to let him off the hook for this one.

"Peas, Dah-dee?" I say again.

"Okay, Pumpkin Butter. We don't have to learn words today, but Daddy shouldn't have told you magic words get you whatever you want; they will get you _a lot_ of what you want."

Yeah. We'll see about that. I'm already learning why those words are called magic. "But Sweetheart, don't you want to get better at talking? I can tell it frustrates you."

I would, if it weren't a waste of fucking time.

"You want us to play with him, Sammy?" Only Uncle Jensen has the balls to ask after yesterday. "We'll stay right where you can see us."

Uncle Jared comes over too. "You ever think it's something else?"

Daddy whips around. He probably has thought that it might be something else, since it was a demon-dick who infected me. Now Uncle Jared's gone and made his silent worries 'real.' "Like what?"

"Well if I remember the story correctly, he was spiked, right?"

Daddy nods and looks a bit anxious. I know that anxious look means he needs Papa, and I'm not sure what to do. Papa did tell me to take care of Daddy today; I decide to watch him a little more closely for now.

So they know I was spiked, but do they know about Crowley? Judging by the look on Daddy's face, I don't think so.

"So how do you know the Modlenol was any good? Maybe it was made wrong. Maybe he's never going to grow up."

I feel like face palming—I thought Uncle Jared was the smart one? Doesn't he realize that's a sure fire way of freaking Daddy the fuck out? Sure enough, Daddy grabs me up, like Crowley could pop out at any second and squishes me to him. I've seen Papa touch Daddy's hair sometimes when he's like this, so I do that. Poor Daddy.

"There are little ears, Jared. You're going to scare him."

Scare me? Speak for yourself. When will Daddy learn? Dean Winchester doesn't get scared… well, not often.

Now Uncle Jared's freaked him out, then he decides to make it worse. "I'm just saying is all, what if it was, I dunno, poisonous—"

"No!" I shout cutting off anymore of his nonsense. Enough of this bull crap. I wriggle my way away from Daddy's arms and point to the ground. "Peas, Dah-dee?" See I can learn.

Nana notices. "Look how quick he's learned manners and from one thing Sam's said. I don't think he's stuck in time completely. I don't think he's incapable of learning. We just have to keep him going."

You almost have it Nana. Daddy puts me down. I have no idea how the fuck I'm going to do this. I've been thinking on it awhile now, 'cause I knew the time was coming, but still nothing.

I use my mumbly talk, which no one really understands to say: "Crowley spiked me with demon-brand Modlenol that's going to slow down my growth somehow. It's obviously affecting my fucking language skills."

They all stare at me blank. No fucking clue what I've said, but Daddy gets one thing. "Dean knows the reason." He puts his face in his hands.

"Yeah, Dah-dee," I say to reassure him.

"That's good news; he doesn't look freaked out. That means it's somewhat hopeful," Uncle Dal, the eternal optimist says.

"Hey, maybe we could try and guess what he's saying," Uncle Jensen says. "Do you mind repeating what you said, stud?"

I do and everyone takes a stab at it.

"The Modlenol's affected your brain and you won't be able to talk 'till we find the special pills?" Uncle Jared says.

"Is it something about a town?" Uncle Jamie asks. "Maybe we have to go somewhere to buy the cure?" He's way off.

 _'What's that boy? Billy fell down the well by the old coal mine and now he's being eaten by zombies?'_ That one's mine because I'm starting feel like fucking Benji. This is stupid.

"Okay, mine doesn't sound nice, but as messed up as I think it is, since this could be anything, I still feel I should say it. But I need Mama and Sammy to promise not to get mad." They roll their eyes and nod. "The semen hand will mow my fucking (that word was clear to me) guage. And that's all I got."

"Semen… demon," Daddy says under his breath. "Crowley."

"Yeah, Dah-dee." Uncle Jensen thinks I'm telling Daddy he was right.

"Woo! See? Good thing I said something."

"What did he do Dean?" This is the harder part to explain. I don't want to play another game of guess Dean's messed up words, so I go for a good old fashioned game of charades.

I find a stick on the ground and re-enact a scene I know Daddy will never forget. I pretend to stab myself in the neck with the stick. Daddy gets it and nods. "Something about the Modlenol he used on you the last time," Daddy says. Uncle Jen, Jared, Dallas and Nana are all watching, the other kids interested in their homework, Pala's curled up in the sun.

They all want to ask 'who,' but they don't, transfixed with what I'm trying to tell them. The next part is harder, but I get an idea. I sort through the cards Daddy put on my little table and sort through them, just like a little kid, pushing them all over the place. Some of them we don't really bother with, 'cause they're just way too hard, and I know one of those is just the card I need. It's a picture of a turtle.

I show it to Daddy. "A turtle? Oh I get it—turtle's are slow."

I nod. "Yeah, Dah-dee."

"You're going to grow, slowly?"

I nod.

"But you will grow?"

"Yeah."

Daddy looks relieved. "How slow?"

I shrug. "Hmmm… Guess we'll have to wait and see on that one," he says talking to himself, but he's calmer now. Way calmer. Maybe I fixed Daddy? Papa will be proud. I still think he'll need a good dose of Papa later.

"You know though, Sammy Sugar, I don't think _everything's_ affected the same. He has improved with some things," Nana points out.

Daddy nods; he still looks a little worried. "Yes, Mama. I think you're right." He's probably trying to prepare for every possibility in his mind. This is clearly going to affect my 'childhood,' negatively—at least somewhat—and he and Papa wanted me to have a perfect childhood.

"That means he doesn't get out of everything, Sammy. I bet we can have him learning a little baby sign language—it's the latest and the greatest. They've been teaching baby sign to all the babies in our community these days. Why, Savannah's girl, Ellie-May knows over twenty-five signs and she's only two. Dean's dexterity is at least as good as hers."

Rats, Nana. I thought I was going to get to play. But that perks Daddy up. "Really, Mama? You think we could teach Dean?"

"Yep. It became the in thing just a few years ago; I know a little since I look after Ellie-May sometimes. And since it's popular now, maybe we could find a place here to enroll you and Dean for when I'm gone—you could learn together."

"What do you say Dean? Do you think you'd be willing to learn baby-sign for Daddy?" He asks knowing he'll need a willing participant and that I'll fucking hate the idea. Especially since it's called 'baby-sign' I'm assuming that's for fucking real babies, which I still say I'm not. I mean, yeah, I am a baby, but I'm different.

I'm about to tell him no, but he fucking knows. "Please, Dean?" He asks. Dammit all to hell. Daddy used a magic word. I think that means I have to do what he wants now.

"Yeah, Dah-dee," I say reluctantly.

We get a chorus of laughs—I think my Colts are starting to get to know me. "Good. We'll teach him something right now. Nana will be right back, noodle, just going to use the little girl's room," she says.

When she leaves and everyone returns to what they were doing before baby charades (except Uncle Jen—Pala won't budge from her spot, so he starts pestering his twin) Daddy's looking at me a little funny. He looks at Uncle Jen a second then back to me. "Hey Jen, what is it you thought Dean said, exactly, again?"

"Aww, Sammy. Don't make me repeat it. Little ears, remember?"

Daddy gives him a look that has him reciting the stupid thing he thought I said. "That's what I thought. Dean Winchester, did you say 'fucking?'"

I'm in fucking shock. I've _never_ heard Daddy swear before. Ever. I'm sure he has, no one's that pure, but just not ever in front of me. I guess it doesn't really count though since he was just asking me if I had. But crap his face looks scary.

So I do the only thing I can do: Lie my cute little face off. "No, Dah-dee." I give what I think is an adorable head shake and smile serenely.

Uncle Jen's onto me for sure; I see him smile crookedly from the corner of my eye, but he doesn't say anything—he _knows_ I did. Daddy isn't fooled either. He's looking at me very sternly. "That's okay, Mister. You're safe from Daddy's bar of soap for a few years yet, but you best learn to keep me from hearing you say naughty words. Understood Sur?"

I nod, with big fucking eyes, only a little bit scared. "Yeah, Dah-dee." He's not kidding around.

"Good. You're going to be my little man of mischief, aren't you?" He's smiling when he says it and he knows it's true.

I shrug. I'm not giving myself away that easily. He pushes my hair back. "It's okay, Dean. Daddy loves you no matter how fast you grow, or how dirty your mouth is."

"Hey! How come we didn't get the same kind of forgiveness when we were growing up?" Uncle Jen complains.

"Because you're not nearly as cute as he is," Daddy teases, but I like to think he means it. And I adore Daddy just as much, but I'm still going to use my powers of cute to get what I want. I walk over and put my arms up. He lifts me into his lap.

"Luv, Dah-dee," I say patting his cheek. Checkmate Daddy. And hey, before you get mad at me; know that I really fucking mean it—I do love Daddy. But I also know I'm little and have few powers. I'm going to need at least him on my side for all the times I'm probably going to get in trouble. Papa's way harder to soften.

"That boy has you played like a fiddle," Louisa says, finally looking up from whatever she's working on.

"Yep. He sure does," Daddy says. I don't think he minds.

~SDC~

We make Dean learn signs all morning. Mama is relentless when she thinks something's important enough, but I cave when my baby boy's rubbing his eyes saying, "peas, peas, Dah-dee."

He's really trying to use manners like I asked him and I have to reward that, so I save him from Mama. "Okay, Dean Bean. Come see Daddy."

He's on the border of a meltdown, I can feel it. And I've been seeing it awhile now, but after today, I get it, Dean is growing up in some ways, _already_ but he's still a little boy who gets tired and wants his Daddy.

Dean puts his arms out to me, grateful to not have to learn anymore signs. I have no illusions that he'll want to go down for a nap, but it's step one and I can hear Dean's thoughts: Get rescued from crazy Nana Colt and her baby signs. Step Two: Convince Daddy to let me play.

I chat to him as I carry him inside. "Does Dean need to have a little snooze?"

"No, Dah-dee. Peas?"

Great. I've created a monster. A really cute please monster that I love more than my own life—which reminds me, Cas and I need to give a call to Bobby Singer. I want to see if he knows anything about 'Demon-Modlenol.'

At least all my worrying over Dean takes my mind off of Cas's punishment. It doesn't hurt and honestly, I'd rather it did. I can never put my finger on exactly why I don't like being in chastity. It's got all the components I love. It reminds me that I'm Cas's, that he owns me (because I gave myself to him), it reminds me that I'm safe, and loved and he's there with me all day.

It may be that he has to do it at all, the reason behind it, that I've disappointed him, _us._ And I've got a constant reminder of that disappointment every time my cock tries to get hard, which is all the time when I wear this thing. Yeah. Figure that out—my mind hates it, but my body loves it. It's extremely uncomfortable. It's a special device Cas had made just for me. My husband the romantic. It's for long time use, but of course he'll check it as many chances as he can think to make excuses for—he _loves_ seeing me in chastity. Which is my only solace. I deserve it. It's not often I mess up, but I do and this time I did royally.

"Tell you what, Pumpkin Butter. Daddy's going to have a snooze too, like Papa said for me to do. How about Dean and Daddy lay down in the big bed together?"

"Yeah," he whines.

"Okay." We go in the kitchen and I make him a bottle. I know he doesn't _need_ them—I'm being a bit selfish. He's growing up so fast and I want to keep doing little boy things with him, but I should introduce him to 'big boy' cups. Maybe that can be today's adventure; though today has already been filled with plenty adventure—with Dean the days always are.

I feel a little better about giving him a bottle when he grabs for it and stuffs it in his mouth. I grab a soother off the counter too, and we head upstairs. I lay us on the bed and enjoy watching him suck so sweetly on the nipple, which he smiles around with sleepy eyes. As much as he wants to, his little body just can't stay awake.

When he's done I take his bottle for the last time, wipe his mouth and give him his soother. "Have a good sleep, sweetheart," I tell him as I card fingers through his hair and he falls asleep.

Once he's asleep, I try and decide whether I should call Cas about this. I'm concerned, but I'm not freaking out anymore.

This is where our relationship is hard. I know phoning Cas and telling him is going to screw up his workday, but I know he'll want to know. At the same time, there's nothing he can do immediately, except for stew over it. Even with phoning Bobby, we'll still be entering a waiting game.

I decide I'm going to chance it. This is big, but it isn't quite the same as the whole park fiasco, where he could have taken immediate action and I haven't made any major decisions without him. Besides, he's right; I was 'protecting' my brothers, which is really stupid. It's not like Cas would have beat them. Either way, I'm not 'scared' of making the wrong decision. It's Cas. We're both going to make mistakes, but we'll get through them together.

~SDC~

When I arrive home, a very excited little boy runs to greet me. He's in nothing but a diaper and his necklace; he's carrying something—a sippy cup. "Pah-pa," he says and holds up his cup that looks like it has juice in it and is spilling, just a little, out of the tiny holes at the top.

"Did somebody lose you, Kiddo?" I say as I put my coat away. "Looks like you've got something new there."

That's as far as I get, a frantic Jamie comes running into the front room. "Jesus, Dean you're fast." He looks at me like I'm God. "Oh, Castiel. You're home; thank the Lord! They put me in charge of changing him—we were playing outside and he got filthy dirty. I got as far as undressing him and wiping him down some, but he took off."

I wonder how Jamie ended up with him. I think I'd rather the idiot twins than Jamie looking after my son. He's a sweet kid, but he'll admittedly tell you he knows nothing about babies. "What's with the sippy cup?"

"Oh. Sam gave that to him after his nap. He liked it so much, he won't put it down and uh, I wouldn't try to take it if I was you."

"Why not?"

He smiles derisively. "Try it and find out."

He leaves assuming I'll take care of Dean and I might be a bad parent for this, but I want to see what happens. "Okay Dean, let's see if we can find Dean's clothes—let's put your cup down for just a minute."

"No, mine," he says hugging it to him.

That's not so new. "Ta to Papa, Dean," I say and decide to just take it from him—the stupidest decision I've ever made. His eyes well up with real tears, and then he takes one of those deep breaths, the ones you know a wail is coming after.

Okay, bad Papa. Stupid Papa. Curiosity killed the fucking cat. I shove it back to him, "Papa's just kidding, see it's funny. Here you go Angel." But I'm too late. He lets out a scream to wake the dead and now he's crying his face off. Crap. I'm the worst Papa in the whole world. "Okay. Not funny. I'm sorry, Dean. Papa's sorry, please stop crying?"

He takes another deep breath and lets out another screaming sob, holding his cup now, but that doesn't seem to make him feel better. Fuck. I'm fucked. "Who took the cup from the baby?" I hear Sam's voice say from the kitchen.

No, _now_ I'm fucked. Mama bear's going to kill me. Like a coward, I look around to see if Jamie's still around, thinking maybe I can pin this on him, but he's nowhere. I start to think about Mexico. That should be far enough to run from Sam.

I desperately try to bounce him and 'shh' him and promise to buy him anything he wants if he'll just stop screaming—no luck. Sam appears, wearing an apron, covered in flour. He looks at me funny. "Cassy? You're home. Why's the baby crying?"

I want to say 'I don't know,' or make some excuse like I 'accidently on purpose' tried to take his cup, but I can't say anything. Sam figures it out. "Did you try to take his cup?"

I could say 'I didn't know' at this point; I just got home. How would I know? But I can't lie to Sam, especially when I expect him not to lie to me. Oh boy. He's going to kill me.

"Jamie said not to take his cup… I wanted to see what happened."

"Castiel Winchester! Lordy Bee! What are you? Five? C'mere baby. Come to Daddy," he confiscates Dean from me. "You want some more juice in there? Where are his clothes, Cas?"

"I don't… I don't know."

"Is your curiosity all satisfied now?" Dean's still crying, he won't even calm down with Sam.

"I'm a first class J-E-R-K. I'm sorry Sam."

He shakes his head at me as he bounces our boy. "I'll forgive you, but Dean might not. Good Lord Cas, what were you thinking?"

Sam laughs at me; Dean's still crying. "Well now you know. He'll be okay, c'mon into the kitchen."

I follow them into the chaos that is our kitchen—it's almost constant state now. Especially since Mama Colt is preparing for this barbeque.

"What happened Sugar?" She says to Sam.

Sam looks at me wryly. "Cas took the baby's cup."

Rat. "I didn't know that would happen!"

Mama Colt whacks me with her spoon. "Ow!"

"Serves you right."

He _lets_ Sam take his cup to fill it with juice and I decide my husband must be some kind of magical being.

Dean finally starts to settle, but he's glaring at me. I think he's thinking about salting me, or whatever it is he used to do to ghosts, that's not a good look. "Papa's sorry Dean Bean—he won't take your cup ever again. Do you think you could go with him and let him find you clothes?" Sam tries.

"No."

Man he's pissed. "I'll go up and get his clothes, bring them down?" I ask, not sure what I should do to fix this.

"He's still kind of dirty though, maybe he should have a bath…" Sam says. Dean doesn't like that idea either.

"No."

"Yeah, he's a bit cranky already. He only slept for thirty minutes and wouldn't go back to sleep. He's been a horror since. I'm just trying to keep him happy 'till bedtime. That cup is what's been our saving grace all afternoon." He gives me a dirty look.

I wince. "I'm sorry, Sam."

"It's okay, Cassy. I was just helping make these pies, but I'm sure Caroline can take over for me, can't you baby girl?"

"Yeah, Sammy."

Sam wipes his hands off on his apron. "Why don't you come with me? We'll bath him together? Besides, I've got something we need to discuss."

Something to discuss? "Okay Baby."

When we get up to the bath, I start running it making sure it's got bubbles. "We'll just get him ready for bed—this little man won't last much longer than after dinner."

"Are we going to bathe him with him holding that cup?"

Sam gives me a look that says he can't even believe I'm asking that question, then proceeds to remove Dean's diaper. Right. I guess it was a dumb question. It's times like these I believe more than ever he is an almost two-year-old. Sam also doesn't take away his "Michael Necklace," the one I wanted to toss, but after the fit Dean threw, I resigned myself to the fact that he was keeping it.

"Mi-hic-ine, Pah-pa," Dean says. He's got the hiccups from all that crying and because I'm talking about the cup again, he feels he has to let me know.

"I know, Angel. Can you forgive Papa? He's a curious idiot."

He nods, sadly. Sam puts him in the tub. "Why don't you tell Papa why you have such a big boy, cup? Huh, Dean? Go'on."

Dean looks at me unsure; I look at him the same way. How's he supposed to do that? Did he learn some words today? I hope that's it. We've been waiting and worrying a little. My heart leaps in my chest.

Dean does some things with his hands. I look at Sam. Dean starts to cry a little bit again. Crap. Papa's a Papa failure tonight.

"That mean's his bottle's all gone. You did a good job Dean," Sam says over his fussing. "Papa just doesn't know, we have to teach him."

"Sam?"

Sam sighs. "Mama and I were teaching him some baby signs today."

"And why would you feel you need to do that?"

Sam proceeds to tell me everything about the 'Special' Demon Modlenol as he washes Dean and how they figured it out.

I bury my head in my hands. "That's how I felt earlier—I reacted the same way, Cas."

"We'll call, Singer."

"That's what I was thinking."

I don't like the look on Sam's face. "What's the matter, Baby? You must be pretty freaked out I guess…"

"Well I was, I mean I am, but it's more just heavy concern—I know we'll figure this out. It's just; did I do the right thing, telling you now? I was thinking about calling you at work, but there really was nothing you could do."

"Oh, Babe. Don't worry about that. You know I want to know everything happening at home, every minute of everyday, but I understand some things are better left 'till after work."

"Good. I usually know how you'll feel, but this is new territory, all this demon stuff. And with what happened at the park with the twins…"

"That was different."

He smiles. "That's what I thought too. I'm glad you agree."

Dean's too pissed off to care about what we're saying. "You just had to take his cup, didn't you?" He teases as he rinses Dean's hair and looks over our surly baby.

I change the subject. "How are you?" My question is loaded; he knows it. I'm of course wondering if his dick is still okay in the chastity device I put on him last night. I know he is probably okay, I wouldn't have put it on him if I didn't think he would be, but what fun is it for me if I can't check? Fuck. Now my dick is hard. Sam in chastity drives me crazy.

"I'm good, Cassy." He's smiling even through all Dean's fussing. He can tell what I'm thinking about.

"That's better, Baby. See? I know just what you need." I can tell just by looking at him, he is better, but not quite back. It's going to take us sometime to get back to 'our version of normal.'

Dean's already rubbing his eyes as Sam takes him out of the tub and I pass Sam a towel. "I don't know if he's going to make dinner, Baby."

"You're right Cassy, I'm taking a risk here, but I also don't want him going to bed too early. Besides, he'll be more pissed if we 'deprive him of dinner.'"

"Right."

"Will you go to Papa, Dean Bean?"

I hold my arms out. "Papa won't take your cup—" Sam tries to convince him; Dean cuts him off.

"No."

"Lordy bee, Dean. All right, Daddy will put a new diaper on you and get your pajamas on. Don't mind him, Cassy. It's just Daddy time."

And I'm the evil asshole that took his cup; man was that stupid. I go with them to Dean's room. I'm not really doing much by way of help, but I feel like I should stay. Moral support?

We bring our little monster downstairs looking all angelic, sweet and fresh. He's got his now treasured sippy cup, his necklace and he's wearing alien pajamas. Suddenly, he's happy. When he sees Pala, he squirms to get down and runs to her. "Uh!" He says pointing so we'll look at his puppy. She's already learned not to jump on him as much; it does still happen from time to time.

"What the hell, Sam?" I say quietly to him. "Now he's happy again?"

Sam shrugs. "He's barely two Cas. They do that; change their minds on a dime. Just don't take that cup again," he warns me as the Mama bear.

I swallow. "Yes, Ma'am." 

~SDC~

Of course after dinner, Dean has his second wind and there's no way I'll be able to put him to bed. He's what us parents call, over tired. Still pissed off at the smallest of things, but with enough energy to party. Since he's not clinging to Daddy, I decide to let the kids deal with his bossiness. It's kinda funny.

The poor puppy is getting the brunt of his sour attitude. "No, Pah-la!" And, "bad Pah-la!" Is what I hear him say a lot. The kids think he's hilarious. They've been around little ones enough to know not to take him personally and they keep trying to do things to make him happy and laugh when he tells them off.

Cas doesn't know what to make of Dean, but I do, he's turning into a toddler. Of course I'm still going to refer to him as my baby for as long as he'll let me, so you know, 'till he's forty at least, but he is growing up in some ways. And it makes a sick sort of sense when I try to think what it is Crowley might have been up to. We're still going to have to 'wait and see' to confirm anything, but I think he wanted to stunt Dean's development physically, whether it be language, walking, running, dexterity, stamina—those kinds of things. To have him advance somewhat mentally would be torture for Dean. His mind grows up, but his abilities are stunted; he's trapped in a body that won't do what he wants. It's cruel. It's something the King of Hell would do.

So Dean seems to be leaving 'baby phase' and entering 'toddler phase' as a nineteen and a half month old would be at this stage, but everything else is delayed.

I wonder if we can sick Bobby Singer and that Rufus guy after Crowley? He's a real dick. That's right, I said dick.

"Hey, Sammy?"

"Oh, hey Jen, everything okay?"

"It is, but I…" He scratches the back of his neck. "I'm worried okay? You haven't really told us what went on with Dean. I mean, you seemed to know stuff, things we wouldn't have figured out and it just, gave me a bad feeling. I know it's none of my business… No, you know what? Screw that. It is my freaking business. I care about that kid, Sammy."

"So much that you lost him at the park?"

"Are you ever going to let that go? Yes, we were idiots, but I swear we'll never do something like that again and if anything; that's what made us care more. I was so freaking scared when we lost him Sam, it just… did something, so I know you don't want to tell me what really happened to Dean, but I think some of us should know."

I sigh heavily and I'm about to tell him, but the chastity reminds me of why I need to wait. That's too big of a decision to make without Cas on board. Making a decision to teach him baby sign is one thing, telling my brothers about a _demon_ spiking my son is another. "Let me talk to Cas, okay? I won't lie, there is something, but Cas and I need to make these kinds of decisions about Dean together. We're both committed to that."

"Fair enough. But I will harass, Cas if I have to."

I roll my eyes. I know he will. Maybe if I told him Cas is eventually going to corner him and Jared at some point to 'discuss' the park incident he wouldn't be so brave. Should I tell him? Nah.

~SDC~

Dean's getting increasingly cranky and the eye rubbing is frequent. Dean's finally tired, but trying to put him to bed is going to suck. He's trying to stay up late as he can, wanting to play with the 'big kids,' and prove he's a 'big kid.' But his little body just won't let him and neither will mean old Daddy.

"Okay, Mister. Time for bed."

"Nooo," he whines. "Peas Daddy?" Rats. He's so cute with his 'peas, Daddy.'

"Cas?" I try, hoping he'll take the hint and he can try putting Dean down. I can't take on those eyes anymore today; it's his turn.

"Oh sure. I have to be the bad guy?"

"Peas Cassy?" I say imitating our son.

He sighs. "All right everyone, cover your ears." He reaches down to grab our cranky baby, who knowing Papa's coming for him, let's out one of those heart breaking sob type cries. "I know," he says as he lifts him to his chest. He's still holding his sippy cup of course. "Dean wants to keep playing, but we've got all day tomorrow for that, Kiddo."

But Dean won't stop crying and I can't let my husband deal with that alone. I get up. "Daddy and Papa will put you to bed together, how does that sound?"

He's still crying, but he nods.

To everyone's delight, we take our screaming child out of earshot— _their earshot_. Our eardrums will never be the same again. I nod Cas toward the kitchen. "May I put some milk in your cup, Pumpkin Butter?" Earlier, I had considered giving him a bottle for bed if he'd really wanted it, since he's been so cranky, but I'm not even going to entertain taking that cup from him.

He holds it out from his body, one fist latched to Papa's neck, glaring, red-eyed, tears down his face, still crying and I get it. I can put milk in his cup, but he's not letting go. "Okay, you're going to help, Daddy I see." I hide my smile as I turn to the fridge.

I don't bother rinsing it out, he'll just have to drink milk that tastes like peach juice; I fill up his cup and replace the lid. He's stopped crying, but he's still not a happy boy.

Cas and I take him upstairs, he's all ready for bed, but needs a diaper change.

"How should we do this without pissing him off?" Cas asks.

"There is no not pissing him off Cas. I'll do it."

Cas hands Dean to me and we both wish we had earplugs as he screams through getting his diaper changed. "I know, bug. Dean's tired. It's been a long day." I move fast as I can.

We give him his blanket and I sit with him upright in my lap on the rocking chair as he drinks his milk. When he's done he actually says all done using one of his hands to make part of the sign. "Good boy, Dean." That's huge, especially with how tired he is. "Okay, let's brush Dean's teeth Papa." We leave his blanket on the chair.

Cas raises an eyebrow. "I know we would always do it before his bottle, but that's because his bottle was being used to put him to sleep. Dean uses a big boy cup now, so we can brush teeth after, which will be better for his teeths," I say, for both their information, but use my 'Dean jargon' just for tired Dean.

Brushing 'teeths' as I call it for Dean, is something Dean actually likes to do. I usually let him brush for a few seconds then I go over everything for him properly. He likes to feel like he's doing something.

When we return to the rocking chair; I give him his blanket back and pop his soother into his mouth; we rock 'till he's asleep with Cas and I singing to him. It doesn't take much more than a few minutes of rocking and he's out, not able to fight sleep anymore. He's already been doing a gallant job since about three o'clock this afternoon. 

As sure as I am that he's out, my heart still freezes, with my whole body cringing—as I'm sure Cas's also is—as I bravely wiggle the sippy cup from his little fist. We both let the breath we'd been holding go when he doesn't wake up. "You like to live on the edge, Baby," Cas says quietly to me. I have to stifle my laugh. We have such a different definition of living on the edge now that we're parents.

"Now for the necklace. How are we going to get that away from him?"

Fudge. I see what he means. In the hand that was partially covered by his blanket, he's got the creepy looking bull-faced guy tight in his fist. I sigh. "We leave it." We're not getting that away from him without him walking up.

"Leave it? Sam. What if he chokes?"

"It won't choke him Cassy. I've realized in some ways, Dean's really not a baby."

"How can you say that after tonight? I have completely changed my views. Father's wrong. Dean's a baby through and through. There's no 'adult' left in him."

Again I have to try not to laugh. "Oh yeah, he's definitely a baby, I didn't say he wasn't, but there are some distinct differences. It's taken me a while to notice, despite all the literature I've read on moddlers, but they're there. Our boy's still got some of old Dean in him. He said 'fuck' today."

" _What?_ "

"Yeah. I wanted to laugh, it was so hard not to and to keep a stern face when I told him off."

"You told him off?"

"Sort of. You don't need to be quite so stern with a toddler as you would with an older kid, all it takes is a firm voice and a ton of repetition. You should have seen the little guy's face."

"But, I don't quite understand. If he's still 'got some old Dean' in him, why couldn't he be lectured like an adult?"

"You were there tonight? Yes?"

He nods. "Okay. I think I get it—he's Dean, but _Dean_ as a baby/toddler, what have you."

"Yeah. I don't think we should really label it. I think we just… go with it. If he's acting like a little two-year-old monster, we act as such. But we can remember that he's not going to be 'just like' a two-year-old. For instance, when I let him play with things with choking parts. Dean wouldn't put those in his mouth, it's usually something a 'baby' wants to do. Even with that, some kids do and some kids don't. We don't need to worry about it so much Cassy. We don't need a protocol with Dean. I don’t think it's ever going to be linear with him."

But Cas needs a protocol with everything, I know. He needs clear cut directions and explanations. I just don't have one to offer in this case.

"I'm just going to follow your lead on this one, Baby. How's that?"

"Okay. So long as it doesn't change, _us._ "

"Not fundamentally, Baby. But… we've already changed. We're always growing, so we're always changing. I like that about us. It's why we're still together at all."

I nod. He's right. "Okay, time to put baby in his crib."

We leave and share a look I know means we're both stupidly horny. "You know Cas, it's been three weeks; I feel much better." Even after exerting myself yesterday, which I don't add, not wanting to remind him.

We head to our room and he undresses me, slowly; taking his time with my pants; shucking my shirt off to reveal each ab one at a time. He halts when he gets to my boxers, trailing a finger just under the waistband. "Are you sure you want to do this?"

"Of course Cas, I told you… oh, rats."

"I thought maybe you forgot. You don't get to have orgasms when you're in chastity and you've still got 'till tomorrow night to go."

"I've learned my lesson, Cas. Maybe we could end this punishment early?" I try, really, really hoping that despite knowing Cas has _never_ ended a punishment early, he might this time.

"You have no idea how much 'whatever' irritates me. That was the third time in two weeks."

Actually it's worse. I do know how much 'whatever' irritates him; it's why I used it. I know that won't help me, so I don't say that, but I know how I can make it up to him.

"I'm sorry Cassy. I am. And I want to do this, for you. Fuck me Cas. Fuck your chaste boy-- _use me._ "

"Oh, I will baby."


	21. Dean's Backyard BBQ Adventure (1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone's so busy at the party, Dean gets left on his own sometimes. But that's okay, he's just fine to take care of stuff himself, right?

It's the day of the party, but some stuff did happen yesterday, you'll want to know about, so I'll fill you in.

We invited everyone. _Everyone._

Meaning, we've invited friends from all walks of our life—the domestic discipline, the club scene, my school friends, and other friends of ours we collected over the years. We invited people from our church group, who aren't going to be super pleased with me. We haven't been to church since Dean. Cas and I have talked about it, but we thought he was both too little and since we suspect he wasn't exactly a church-goer in his previous life, it may be a bit much for him. We're thinking about waiting 'till he can start Sunday school and ease him in. All of that’s yet to be decided, so for now we're hiding out. I'll make sure we make an extra large donation this year.

I even put the invite out online to the moddler group. I made sure to ask Cas about that one, considering what happened last time, and he was all for it. It will actually make things easier for him; it's far better for him to get to know people before I hang out with them.

Not everyone could make it of course, and thankfully one of those couple's was the Lombardo's. But Michael's daddy responded. That completely surprised me. Michael seems a little old for the moddler group in the first place, even though there isn't really an age limit, so I was surprised that Michael's daddy would be interested at all.

When I tell Cas his response is, "Michael's coming?" He doesn't seem to care about Michael's daddy, so much as he does Michael.

"He's part of the moddler group, remember?"

"Oh, right."

"Did Michael do something, I'm missing Cas?"

"Not, yet."

"Okay Castiel Winchester, spill it and now I don't care how stupid it sounds."

He really, really doesn't want to tell me, whatever's got into his brain. Fact; he's probably been stewing and figuring out a way to tell me since Michael's been here.

"Michael's like me."

"Like you?"

"Yes. Like me," he says making a gesture with his hands to himself. "You know, how I'm… How I like to be in control?"

"So? What's wrong with that?" I say pointedly. He knows he's on the verge of a Sam Colt scolding.

"Nothing."

"There's something, Cas."

"Dean's picked him and I think he's picked Dean."

Okay. At this point, I have to work real hard not to laugh, because that's just absurd. But I remind myself how smart my husband is and he can often read things I can't. Still, it doesn’t mean he's always right… This one's pretty far fetched, even for him.

"See? You think I'm an idiot."

"I never said that."

"You didn't have to."

"C'mon Cas, I mean it's a bit—"

"Crazy?"

"Well not crazy, but just hard to believe. Dean's barely two. Michael's eight," I say.

"This is just going to make me sound more crazy, but I'll risk it. Remember the sparkles?"

"How can I forget about the sparkles? We're still finding those things everywhere—I'll never forgive Mama."

"They were in Michael's hair and on Dean's hands."

"Well, yeah. They were playing together."

He's silent, hoping I'll suddenly get it. I try really hard. "You think Dean did that on purpose?"

"Yes."

"Dean's—"

"Not quite two, I know, and I know I sound stupid. But like you said, he's a moddler and in some ways can be 'not like a baby,'" he says in air quotes. "So maybe this is one of those things."

I consider it. I really try to. "Cas," I sigh. "I'm not going to lie to you. I just don't believe Dean could make _that_ kind of a decision at his age, moddler or not. It sounds more like something Dean would do as, like, a prank. Like remember that time, in first grade when I hid your lunch box—you had to spend the whole of lunch hour looking for it; you were so ticked at me when I showed you I knew where it was the whole time."

"You did that because you were jealous," Cas says flatly.

"What? No I didn't."

"Yes. You did. I hung out with Derek Miller the lunch hour before, you were getting back at me for that."

"What? Why would I be jealous about that? I remember you told me something about your father making you, because he was a buyer's son. You wanted to treat it like a business meeting, trying to be like your daddy—it was really cute."

"That's you judging what happened now as an adult. You hadn't known any of that 'till after you hid my lunch box; and you hadn't felt the same way you do now. You were jealous and you were getting me back." Cas's eyes look away from me like he's looking into his brain. "Right! I've got it. The other kids. Michael didn't play much with Dean that evening, which I thought was weird, but that's besides the point; Dean got jealous and lashed out at Michael; in sparkles."

I'm speechless, 'cause it's plausible, but I'm still not ready to buy in. "B-but, that's quite a bit different than _marking_ him, Cassy."

"Who did I spend lunch hour with that day Sam? Who kindly 'helped' me look for my lunch box, since Derek didn't want to wait around helping? And who stuck his tongue out at Derek when he thought I wasn't looking—yeah I saw. You wanted Derek to know I was yours."

Oh. I might remember something about that. I take a big breath. "I… I don't know what to say Cas except; you're not crazy?"

"Why does it feel crazy then?"

"It does _sound_ a bit crazy—"

"See? You admit it."

"But only people like us could understand something like that; that's why you feel crazy."

"Yeah. I even had to explain it to you."

"Yeah, but on my side of things, I don’t always know when I'm doing stuff like that, so much, 'till after. That's why I've got you, Cassy."

"Then Dean is you and Michael is me."

"Hold on there Cowboy. Dean is Dean and Michael is Michael. We can't compare them to us despite their similarities. Besides, if you really think they are us, do you think you're going to stop them from being apart should they decide to be together? Could anyone stop us?"

"That's what I'm afraid of."

"In any case, it's not something we need to worry about for a long time, okay? Besides, Michael seems like an all right kid. He's very protective of our son."

"Yes, I know. Yet another similarity. And for the record I don't want 'all right' for Dean."

"Is this the whole 'no one's good enough for Dean' speech?" I tease.

"Well, no one is good enough for Dean."

"I agree, but Cas, Dean really likes Michael. He picked Michael as his friend. I don't think it would be right to tell Dean he can't be friends with him. Michael hasn't done anything bad to Dean."

"I know. I… You're right. And I said I was going to follow your lead this time, with Dean. I meant what I said—you're better at it than I am. I won't forbid him seeing Michael, I'm just, uneasy about the whole thing."

That's weird to me, the part where Cas says he's going to 'follow my lead,' and I don't know how I feel about it, yet. That's not how Clyde and Claire do things, and Claire was definitely better at kids than Clyde. I know Cas would _really_ like to let me take the lead in all things Dean; but it's not written into his DNA, nor is it the way we work best. This is _so_ going to blow up in our faces. But for now, I go with it. There's too much going on to argue about this and Cas isn't ready for it. I may just have to let the explosion happen.

~SDC~

Cas did talk to my brothers but it happened _nothing_ like either of us thought it would go. I hope you don't mind a second hand telling; this is how the story was told to me. 

~SDC~

Cas storms into the bedroom, I'm resting; reading a book; he has a funny look on his face. "What's with you, Cassy?"

"Your brothers."

"Fiddlesticks. What did they do now?" At this point, I'm expecting another fire.

He shakes his head. "Nothing to worry about. Here I was planning to tear a metaphorical strip off them and well, I did, but they're… they're…"

"Charming as all heck?"

"Yeah. I didn't even go to them; they came to me."

Cas said the conversation went like this:

~o~

Jensen said, "Cas, we're so fucking sorry, we lost your kid, man." Cas didn't care how sorry they were; he told them how irresponsible they were and that they'd be lucky to be allowed to watch Dean on their own ever again. This is also the part Cas claims he completely reamed them out, but he was vague on the details making me wonder how much of a 'reaming' it was.

"We know," said Jared. "And if it was any one of our siblings lost on account of some idiot, we would have knocked them into next Tuesday. That you haven't is something we are extremely grateful for."

"That's why we're here," Jensen chimed in. "That spanking Sam gave us? Nothing. Our Daddy's whooped us a lot harder than that."

"Yeah," Jared agreed. "Way worse and that's what we deserve. We feel so freaking bad—the guilt is killing us."

"So we want you to have your own crack at our asses," Jensen added.

Then, apparently, they dropped their pants and boxers at the same time.

~o~

"So what did you do?" I ask.

"I… well I punished them."

"You did? C'mon, _details_ Cas."

"Would you like it if I discussed any of your punishments with them?"

"You're more private about that than I am and you know it." At least I am now. Not so much in the beginning. "Besides, they're my brothers, it's the whole 'sibling wanting to know how your sibling was punished so you can tease them' thing."

He looks away from me.

My eyes are wide and I figure him out. "You may have 'punished' them, but you didn't go hard on them, did you Cas?"

"I used my belt on them."

"How many times?"

"Twenty each."

I'm not even able to control my laughter. That's like a tickle for Cas and for them. I'm still betting those two laughed all the way to the bank on that one.

~SDC~

Now the three of them are getting along so well together, Cas and Dean are out there helping Jared and Jensen set up a make shift dance floor outside of the gazebo. I'm helping Mama go through our list of party food.

"Do you think we have enough cornbread, Sammy?"

"Trust me Mama, these people will never have seen so much cornbread in their lives."

While Mama, Dal, Louisa and Caroline finish putting plates of food together and the littler ones mix up the punch; I decide to bring our outside crew a snack since they've been out there since just after breakfast.

As I approach I hear, "here, Jen!" Then a huge baby squeal followed by said baby flying high up in the air _and_ a goodly distance, a distance I'm not _at all_ comfortable with. What the hell do they think they're doing? And where did Cas go? I don't see him anywhere. Just after they make it up to them, they do this? He's going to murder them and I'll help.

At least I think so, 'till I hear, "here Jare!" _That voice belongs to my husband._ And Dean is flying through the air again and toward my husband, soon to be dead husband, as he returns from wherever it is he went. My heart literally falls out of my chest as I watch helplessly and pray to the good Lord that he catches our son. It seems to take a long time for Dean to get to his arms, but he does; safe. I can breathe again.

Dean is enjoying himself; he's laughing.

I slam the tray of snacks and drinks I brought down on one of the picnic tables we have set up and storm over to my husband. Jared and Jensen finally see me and look terrified; my husband knows the look on my face well too and he's looking around for an escape route. The only one not scared of me is Dean. "What in blazes is going on? Why are you using my baby like a football?"

"Drop the baby and run Cas! Run!" Jen yells.

"We'll distract him; save yourself!" Jare adds.

"Uh-oh," Dean says.

"S-S-Sam?"

"Give. Me. _My._ Child." Cas hands him over and Dean latches onto me probably trying to hide his face in my shoulder so Cas can't see him laughing. I know Dean loves watching Papa getting scolded by the Mama Bear.

"Um, Baby—"

"Don’t you 'Baby' me, Castiel Winchester. These two jackals I expect this sort of thing from, but you? You should be protecting them from their idiocy, not joining in."

"Dean said he wanted to play and—"

"Oh well if the baby said he wanted to play, then I guess it's okay. I'll remember for future that you take parenting advice from our two-year-old."

"He was safe, Sam. We wouldn't have dropped him."

"Quit while you're ahead, Cas," Jen says.

"I don't think it matters by this point Jen," Jared adds.

"U-up, Dah-dee!" Dean says making motions like I should throw him to Papa.

"Uhhh, sorry Kiddo. I think Dean-ball is over."

"This stupid game has a name?"

"Indefinitely over," Jared says to follow Cas's comment.

"I can't even _believe_ I have to say this, but ' _Dean-ball_ ' is strictly forbidden. Forever. And anyone I catch tossing him like that loses their balls."

"Hey! That's sexist. What if one of the girls does it?" That's Jen. Would it be anybody else?

"They're not dumb enough. I can't believe you three, but I'm disappointed in you the most Cas."

They're all looking at their shoes.

"C'mon, Sugar. Let's get you away from these knuckleheads. You can hang out with Nana and Daddy."

As I walk away Dean's signing 'fun.' Or the baby version of anyway. His dexterity's not quite like yours or, mine, but it's close enough I understand him. Even I was hesitant of the signing at first, but it's turning out to be real handy. Leave it to Mama to think of something like that.

I think even Dean's down with it since he seems to be able to learn the signs quickly and he can tell us what he wants.

"Yeah, I'll bet it was fun. It's also dangerous."

When we're in the kitchen, Dean hasn't forgot about Dean-ball. Turns out he _was_ instrumental in initiating that game. He keeps telling me 'fun.' "I know sweetheart, but we're going to do lots of fun things when everyone gets here, do you know Nana got you a slip and slide? That's really fun." And not death-defying.

He tilts his head to the side interested.

"Why don't you get the kids to take him out and get him started, Sammy?" Mama says.

~SDC~

Nana suggested I try something and I was a little unsure at first, but she further convinced me by saying I could only get away with doing it at this age and did I really want to miss my chance?

So here I am, completely buck-ass naked, in front of everyone, getting ready to try this slip and slide deal. I've already watched Lulu, Hunter and Lily-Faye do it and they're all coaxing me to try it. I'm not scared, I'm just wondering how I'm going to do this with my dick hanging out. What were you thinking Nana?

Everyone wants to see me do it though; even Papa (who's keeping his distance from Daddy) and Uncle Jared and Jensen, crowd around. I can't let down my fans and I'm a total attention ham. I take a running start and hope I don't trip before I hit the yellow plastic road.

I try a jump, but it ends up being more of a hop-trip; at least it's onto the yellow stuff and holy, motherfucking shit! I'm sliding the other end where there's this little bumper thingy. The water's a bit cold, but it's freaking hot outside, so it feels good. I let out a happy squeal and I'm laughing when I reach the end. And the best part? No dick chafe.

"Did you like that half-pint?" Uncle Dal asks me.

"Yeah! 'Gain!"

~SDC~

I saw him steal away inside while Dean played with the kids. I feel awful about earlier—I really didn’t think Dean-ball was all that bad a game. But Sam thinks so—so it's off. More and more I'm realizing that with our son, our _baby_ son, I'm way out of my element. I never did help Sam as much as I thought I did. I was a real ass when I was younger. I still wonder why Sam's with me at all.

I'm quiet as I creep in through the kitchen door. I see him, but he hasn't seen me yet. He's pulling saran wrap off of plates, getting them ready to take out and fuck; he's wiping his eyes. He's crying. And not the kind of crying like during a punishment; that kind of crying's not the same. It's the 'I'm sad' kind of crying.

When Sam cries like that, it does something to me inside; crushes my soul. I can't stand it.

"Sam?"

"Oh, hi Cassy."

Cassy. That means he forgives me. Sam's always quick to forgive me; maybe he shouldn't be. "I came to apologize again, Baby. I'm sorry I scared you."

"I was really mad at you Cas—I _hate_ being mad at you."

"You're allowed to be mad at me, Baby. Especially when I deserve it. You're right that was really stupid."

"It was stupid, but I over reacted."

"Oh, I think you reacted the exact right amount to seeing your cub being tossed in the air like a football. I'm really sorry Baby. While I may be in charge of us, I think I'm going to defer all baby stuff to you, Baby. I suck at it," I tell him again. I've said it before, but I want him to make sure he knows I'm serious.

"You're not so bad. Dean adores you."

"Does Dean's Daddy still adore me?" I say creeping closer; hoping I'm accepted.

"I always adore you, Cas."

"I've really been striking out lately—how come you haven't left my ass yet?"

"Well I don't feel you've been striking out, but that's besides the point. I'm not so judgmental I'd let a couple weeks of mayhem over ride our many years of wonderful. I love every minute with you; the good and the not-so-good. You're the best man I know Cas."

"No way. I'm not as good as you, Baby. I know that; everybody knows that, but God am I grateful I at least get to try to be everyday." He comes a little closer to me; I reach for his hand.

"The past couple weeks has been hard; you know it's always hard with our families; much as we love them, they're both stressful in their own ways. I'm loving having my family here, but I'm looking forward to just the three of us again."

"See? You think about nice things like family time; all I'm looking forward to is being able to bend you over this counter and fuck you; hard, Sam."

"Oh God. I think about your hard cock ramming into me everyday, Cas. I can't wait 'till you can be rough again—I'm going mental."

I tug him to me and capture his lips in a kiss; my tongue slips in and I suck in his breath away; he moans. My dick's hard and I've decided I'm taking him the fuck upstairs. Then the fucking doorbell rings. I groan.

"Our first guests," Sam says against my lips.

"Wait Sam—I love you."

He smiles wide. That's better. "And I love you, Cas."

~SDC~

People start arriving and they get to meet me for the first time dressed in nothing but my birthday suit. Lucky assholes. They get to view my cute little tush as I slide down this fuck awesome banana slide.

Some new kids are here; none I recognize. They suddenly want turns on the slide I was monopolizing (since everyone is quite a bit older than me, they had been letting me have most of the turns on the slidey thing) and I don't really want to share.

"No," I say to Uncle Dal and point at the kid currently running and sliding.

He laughs. "You don't want to let him have a turn, Dean?"

That's right. I nod. Uncle Dal rolls his eyes. "You've had plenty of turns. How about we get you dressed?"

"No." I want to slide more and I'm fucking loving being naked.

"I think your daddy and papa would want you dressed; they've just got distracted. C'mere you."

Uncle Dally's probably right—doesn't mean I'm going quietly. As he reaches for me, I run through his legs and take off, my wang flapping in the breeze across the lawn.

"We've got an escapee!" Uncle Hunter yells when he sees me taking off, but he does nothing to catch me thinking I'm hilarious.

Dal doesn't bother to chase me knowing if he catches the right person's attention they'll catch me and instead decides to be entertained by my naked running; I can hear him laughing.

There are quite a few people here now and more kids than I expected. But I've got my sights set for under that tree; the one I'm going to pee under. Since I'm naked, I'm going to be like my naked caveman ancestors, and just pee where I like; see how that feels. Cave-boy, they'll call me. I'm running, I'm running, I'm running and to my surprise, not falling. I make it to my tree and crouch down and let go. Ah. Relief. I like this very much.

But my cave-boy adventure is short lived; I'm grabbed up by giant, familiar hands. "I got you naked boy." Daddy lifts me so his lips kiss my belly where he blows a raspberry; I giggle.

"No, Dah-dee."

He sets me on his hip. "Ick!" Now there's probably pee on his shirt.

He thinks I'm funny and doesn't seem to care about the baby pee on him. "Were you peeing?"

"Yeah," I giggle.

"All the more reason to put a diaper back on you. You ready to get dressed?"

"No."

"No? But everyone wants to meet you. You want them to meet little Dean too?"

My dick is not little Daddy! I scowl at him. "You know what I mean," he says.

Daddy brings me into the kitchen where Papa is.

"Would you mind getting him dressed, Cassy? But uh, hold him away from you; he peed. And bring me a new shirt?"

"Anything for you, Baby—but um, why did you pick me?"

I have no idea what Papa's asking. Pick him? As in, 'to marry him?' They can be really weird sometimes.

Daddy knows what he's talking about of course. "You're the most reliable."

"Even over Mama Colt?" He asks, sitting my naked bum on his arm with my back against his chest, and all potential pee drenched items are pointed away from him.

"When she's throwing a party? Yes. Dean'll be naked the whole party through, she'll keep getting distracted by this, or that."

That doesn't sound so bad. I like this whole naked thing.

"You trust me even after Dean-ball?"

"I doubt you'll do that again. Unless you're feeling suicidal."

Papa laughs. "It's nice to be first choice."

"You're always my first choice, Cassy."

"Bleh!" I've forgotten how sappy my daddies are.

Daddy laughs. "Are we too lovey dovey for you, Sweetheart?"

"Yeah."

They both laugh at me and that just makes it worse, because they look at each other with said 'lovey dovey' eyes, like they're sharing some kind of inside joke and then they rub their fucking noses together and Papa kisses Daddy. "You're all mine later, Baby."

Oh my freaking God. "Guh-on, Pah-pa."

"Okay, Papa's going," Papa says, but he and Daddy are still making googly eyes at each other.

Seriously? What happened with them? I thought Daddy was pissed at Papa for Toss-the-Dean? Part of me is happy though. If I wasn't their kid and supposed to be freaked out by kissing stuff, I'd probably say they're pretty special.

"So, what does Dean want to wear?" Papa asks taking me upstairs.

I get to pick? Papa really is learning.

Papa's taping me into a diaper when I remember we've got to get my necklace too. They said I might lose it playing on the slip and slide, which was the only way they were able to get me to relinquish the thing. I remember to use my nice manners. I point to it. "Peas, Pah-pa."

The look on Papa's face surprises me. "Yeah. We'll get you that _thing_ in a minute Dean."

That _thing_? In a minute? But I used the magic word Papa. Maybe he doesn't know how those work. Whenever I use the magic words with Daddy, he gets stuff for me right away. "Peas?"

I can tell he wants to be stern and tell me in a minute again, but I'm giving him my Dean eyes; you have to be a pretty cold-hearted bastard to resist those. He huffs and grabs it from its hanging place and gives it to me. I don't know how many signs Papa knows, but I sign 'thank-you' to him anyway.

"Thank-you?" He guesses.

"Yeah." Good job Papa! I smile at him.

"You're welcome, Angel." His voice sounds eerily sad. What'd'I do?

"Dean, I don't know how much you can… level with me like a grown up, but hell, can you promise me you won't forget about your daddies, someday, when you're bigger?"

Forget about my daddies? Why would I do that? Who will change my diapers and read me stories, and tuck me in at night? I'm going to need someone to do that.

"No, Pah-pa."

"Okay. Even when… even when you meet a nice young lady or young man and you get married and have little Deans?"

Little Deans? Papa! "Ick!" I say. That makes him smile. Thank Christ. Seriously, what's with him today?

"Okay, I know. That's too big a topic for little boys. Papa's just being silly." He lifts me up and takes me over to the closet. "So, what you want to wear?"

I look over all my clothes. Daddy doesn't quite give me _that_ much freedom. It's usually, 'what do you want to wear Dean Bean? This, or that?' But never the _whole_ closet! I give him my 'I'm so fucking happy' look. I see something hanging on a hook, a black tank and there's a guitar on it. I point to it. "Peas?"

"Now that Daddy's got you saying please again, that's all you say. I think this time around you know just how well it works for you. Don't you Kiddo?"

I shrug.

He takes it off the hook. "Do you recognize the letters on the shirt, Dean?"

Unfortunately not. I'm going to have to learn how to fucking read all over again. "That says, ACDC. Do you remember that?"

Of course I do. This Modlenol crap may have fuzzed out some shit, but no one can fuzz out ACDC. "Yeah!"

"Uh-oh. No wonder Daddy hasn't shown you this yet—there's no Demon patch on it—your uncle Dal got this for you, recently. I remember now."

Uncle Dal? I would've expected the shirt to come from Uncle Jared and Jensen. When I think about it, who's more likely to set foot inside a shopping mall? Or hell, shop online?

"Peas, Pah-pah." I'll say that as many times as I have to. I want that shirt. I'm wearing it in the bath, to bed, tomorrow, probably everyday from now on.

He sighs. "Okay, but you have to promise to give Daddy those eyes on behalf of Papa when he asks why I caved."

I nod. Deal, Papa.

~SDC~

I'm busy hosting with Mama, the party's really going. People are showing up every ten to twenty minutes and we need to get stuff on the barbeque pretty soon. I've got some of the kids offering drinks and making sure the little kids have stuff to play with—thank Lord for that playground. And it's still hot enough to have the slip and slide out; so many of the kids are enjoying that too.

Of course everyone wants to chat with me—I haven't seen many of our friends in weeks—and I have to re-tell the story of my rib injury over and over. I've got an eye out for Cas to come back with Dean—they've been gone longer than I expected.

"Hey, Bobby! Thanks for coming. I'm happy to see you here and Dean's going to flip. I didn't tell him you were coming."

"Wasn't even sure I was coming myself. Had some 'business' to take care of, but Rufus is finishing it up for me, so I could stop by this thing. S'why he's not here, but this ain't really this thing anyway."

"It's okay, Bobby."

"I doubt Dean will be disappointed Rufus didn't come. Their relationship was always strained. And I've been working on what you asked me to, the Modlenol thing, but nothing yet. I'd like to tell you not to worry, but with this kind of stuff; well we can't be to sure a that."

"I understand Bobby. Cas and I are grateful you're working on it at all."

"How's Dean?"

That's an easy question to answer. "It was hard for him to adjust at first, but I dare say he's loving it here."

"A course. A course. I probably should've asked how you two were? Dean's probably a handful as a little one… and speak a the devil."

That's when Cas returns with said little devil, he hands me a clean shirt. Dean's eyes are wide at seeing his old friend. And he gets shy! I have to try not to laugh as he curls into his papa. But he is excited.

"Well son of a gun! Look at you Dean."

Dean turns a fierce scowl on him. "Is that the hello I get?"

Dean shakes his head and reaches his arms out to me trying to get closer to Bobby without actually going to Bobby. "Hi," he says.

"Hello to you too, kid."

"What are you wearing, Dean?" I look at Cas who holds his hands up in surrender.

"Peas, Dah-dee," Dean explains.

"Oh I see, you used your nice manners and conned Papa into letting you wear that." I hadn't shown him that shirt yet, since I hadn't been able to sew a patch on it yet. And if I know my little boy, he's already got plans on that shirt never coming off.

And I know he was running around naked earlier, which always makes me nervous—when he's patchless—but I know how tonight's going to go and he's going to get passed off to a lot of different people, that will already be stressful. I'd rather not have that to worry about him not having a patch too.

"I'll go change him," I finally decide. In other words, I'll deal with the resulting freak out when I take that shirt away.

"No, Dah-dee."

"Now Dean—"

"Wait a sec. What'cha got there little idjit?"

Dean holds out his 'Michael Necklace' for Bobby. "Where did you get that?"

"It came from a friend of his." I'm freaking out a bit, because Bobby looks concerned. "What? Is there something wrong with it?"

"Not exactly, but I can tell you, you won't have to worry about demon possession with him wearing that. Won't have to worry about angels for that matter either."

"Angels? Why would we have to worry about angels?" I ask.

"That's a story for another time, but he's fine. Long as he's got that, he's protected."

"So what? It's a magical amulet, or something?"

"Yes. Sorta. He can't be possessed by demons, or angels while he's wearing it. That much I know for certain. There's also some folklore that says: With it, one can find God. But the other stuff's a lot more concrete than that bit."

Dean's got wide eyes. I wonder how much of that stuff he remembers. Is he scared? I hold him closer and bounce him a bit. "Is it dangerous?"

"Not at all, but wouldn't hurt to keep that tucked inside your shirt," he says as he tucks it into Dean's shirt for him.

"Then why do you look, so concerned?"

"My only concern is where that necklace came from."

I look at Cas meaningfully. He was right to suspect Michael, or at least his family. I mean, moddler or not, he's still just a kid and clearly he gave it to Dean, to once again, protect him. I think Michael's on our side, but I'm not sure Cas feels the same.

Cas is quiet. Cas-level concern is taking over.

"Thank-you Bobby," I say knowing Cas will likely point Michael out to Bobby sometime tonight and hire him to check their family out. But right now he can't say anything. "You want to spend sometime with your uncle Bobby, Dean?"

"Yeah," he says diving for him.

"Okay. Daddy will be by the grill if you need me." After I run into the kitchen to change my shirt that is and deal with Papa. I pull Cas away with me and use my special Sam powers to soothe his inner torment.

~SDC~

I think it's pretty cool that Michael's given me a protective necklace. But I also know what that means—he knows about the same shit I used to know about. Suddenly, I'm not so sure about his 'friends.' I already knew they were shady, but now I'm suspecting them of other shit. Supernatural shit. The only problem is, my brain's all fuzzy and while I know _to_ suspect them I can't for the life of me think of what. But Bobby will. I just gotta think about how to tell him.

But Bobby knows me, or at least he knew the old me, and what the old me would have been off doing right now. "Not to worry kid. I'll be sure to check this family out. I'm not a parent, but I can read that look in your parent's eyes pretty easy. I'm sure they're gonna corner me and talk to me later." He laughs. "You're pretty cute like this, you know."

"Ick!" I tell him, stupid Bobby, making fun of me.

"Don't be sour. How about you show me where I can get a beer around this place?"

I think I know where the drinks are, or at least someone he can ask. We find him a beer and he fills me in a bit, but I know he's being careful not to say too much—he doesn’t want to worry me since he knows, I know, there's nothing I can do about it. Nor do I want to at the moment. It's a full time job looking after my daddies.

We talk a long time, or well, he talks, I listen, until, unfortunately, nature calls again. It's like I'm a cheesecloth today. Papa and I had stopped in the kitchen after he'd changed me for a little drink and a small snack before dinner. Now I have to pee… aaaaand now I'm wet. I think it would be kind of funny to get Bobby to change my diaper, but not even I'm that mean, so I squirm to go down. "Your daddies let you go off on your own?"

I'm going to bank on Bobby knowing nothing about babies. This will be a lot easier if I can just find someone myself. "Yeah."

"Uh, okay. You come find me here if you need me."

Yeah, yeah, Bobby. I decide on Daddy first. He's usually my first choice. He said he'd be over by the grill and he is in a new shirt, but when I see he's holding some cute little blonde bitch, I lose my shit. Well, inside. I don't say anything. Fine. He's got himself a new baby and looks too busy for Dean. Asshole. I decide to go find Papa.

It's worse when I see Papa. He's chatting with a friend and holding who I assume is the friend's little boy in the arms that are supposed to be holding me. Fuck him too.

I'd ask Nana of course, but I've learned that woman is busy. It's really hard to get Nana time sometimes—not that I'm complaining. She does make special time for me, but I know with an event like this, I'll just make things difficult for her.

So who do I pick? Definitely _not_ Uncle Jared and Uncle Jensen. Even between the two of them, they can't change a diaper properly. One time they tried and I ended up with piss all over myself. Uncle Jamie's definitely out for obvious reasons. He's fun to play with, but that's about it.

That still leaves me with a lot of choices. Uncle Dal for one, Auntie Louisa or Caroline, hell, even the other set of twins might do okay at it. Lulu actually even changed me once, and young as she is; she's a pro. Problem is everyone is doing something.

I see Auntie Louisa first; she looks busy, but she's my girl. I run and tug on her skirt. "Well hello my little apple pie. What you need Sugar?"

"Off," I say. And point to my diaper.

"A diaper change. Okay, come with me." I take her hand and we go to the living room where there are some supplies. I help by laying down nice for her. She gets my diaper all changed, thankfully, but we're interrupted before she can put my shorts back on. "Thank, God. Louisa, there you are, Mama's looking for you. More people have arrived, we need drinks for them, I'm working on handing out the appetizers." That's Auntie Caroline.

"Yeah, coming. I was just changing the baby's diaper." She turns to me. "C'mon Dean let's go out and see who we can find to take you."

But I don't have my shorts on! Or shoes. She brings the shorts with us, but my shoes get forgotten on the floor since I can tell she feels rushed.

She puts me down and hands me my shorts. "There's your daddy over there sweetpea, go to him and he'll put those on for you. Go'on."

Yeah. The traitor's still holding Goldielocks. I make like I'm going to go to him, but when I know she's not watching me anymore; I head in another direction. I don't really need shorts, or shoes for that matter, but I could try putting them on myself. I sit on the grass and like she's got some kinda Dean radar, Pala comes racing up to me and licks my face. "No Pah-la," I tell her. She sits like Nana's been teaching her to.

But when she sees I've got something, she thinks it's a toy for her and she grabs at it playing tug-o-war with my shorts. Of course I lose, since she's stronger and she takes off with them probably off to bury them somewhere.

Okay. This is ridiculous.

"What are you doing all alone Half-Pint?" Uncle Dally!

I point in the direction of Pala and he figures it out. "Did the puppy take your shorts?"

"Yeah."

"And look at you! You've got your shirt on."

Oh right. Uncle Dal got this for me. I do the sign for thank-you to him; he knows. "You're welcome, Dean. Looks good on you. Your papa said it was one of your favorite bands. Hang right here, I'll go get your shorts for you."

While I'm waiting, Uncle Jamie 'finds' me. "Aw Crap. I guess I'd better take you to someone; else I'll get my head bit off again. C'mon."

"No," I say and try to point in the direction of Uncle Dal and Pala, but he never knows what I'm saying.

"Yeah, tell the next person what you want. I really am sorry I suck so much, but it's really safer for you if I pass you to the next person and they help you. Let's go." He picks me up and I could fight him, but he'll just think I'm being a whiney brat and that'll just scare him more off kids.

We get half-way across the lawn when Jamie's accosted. "Jamie! Come help us, Hunter and the boys are taking all the turns on the slip and slide and not letting the girls play."

"So, what you want me to do about it?"

"Everyone else is busy. We need you to tell him off."

"I can't wait 'till I'm twenty-one," he mutters. "Yeah. Coming."

He puts me down. "Wait here, Dean. Y'hear?"

I nod, but I have full intentions on finding Uncle Dal again, soon as he leaves. Only problem is, he's carried me far enough, I'm on the other side of the backyard from where Pala took off with my stuff. This sucks. But I'm Dean Winchester; I can find something to do instead. Maybe I can get some food? Who needs shorts anyway?

I stand up and look around for the next person I'll irritate and I can't believe who I'm seeing standing by the snack table. He's with a tall angular man I recognize from the park: His daddy. I think that man could freeze lava with how icy he looks.

I run to Michael, so excited he's here. But I thought he never wanted to see me again? I don't care. I know I can count on Michael when I need help and now is one of those times. Everyone's too busy for me—even Daddy, but Michael won't be.

I smack into his leg and hug it and look up to him, still keeping my arms tight around his leg. "Dean?"

Michael reaches down to pick me up. "Mine," I say.

"Father, this is Dean."

"Yes, I remember from the park."

"Is nobody watching you again? You don't even have all your clothes on. Your feet are probably filthy," Michael says in his uppity voice.

"Yes. This place is definitely… _chaotic,_ " Michael's daddy agrees.

Well sorry my family's not good enough for you, asswipe. I glare at Michael's daddy.

"Michael, why don't you introduce me to his parents, that way they can get him, sorted."

"Yes, sir."

We go see Daddy at the grill, who's still holding the little girl and showing her how he cooks ribs. She looks older than me and I don't think she's a moddler. I wonder if Daddy would have preferred me to be a 'real baby?'

Daddy looks up. "Oh, hi Michael," he smiles. "Looks like Dean's already found you."

"Well someone needed to find him," Michael says pointedly.

"Don't be rude Michael," his daddy says.

"Sorry, sir."

"No, it's okay. Things are hectic and we're probably not keeping a close enough eye on him, I thought his uncle Bobby had him." He sets his tongs down and wipes his free hand off on his apron. "Hello, I'm Sam Winchester, you must be Michael's father."

"Pleased to meet you, Sam," he says shaking Daddy's hand, but he doesn't look very pleased to meet him. "I'm Lukas Godfrey."

"Oh. Are you Jewish?"

"No. Not that that's any of your business."

"Um, sorry. Well, my husband, Cas is over there. I'll introduce you later, but as you can see I'm…"

"No need to apologize," he says in his cold voice. "I can introduce myself. I can see you're… preoccupied."

Daddy's not stupid. _Lukas_ is clearly unimpressed by Daddy and I can tell he's hurting Daddy's feelings. When I get the chance, I'm going to punch this guy in the nuts. I'm sure Papa will help me. I don't like him. At all. Aside from what an asshole he's being to my daddy, he gives me the fucking creeps.

"Excuse me, then," he says and leaves. Good riddance.

"Okay. Here I'll take, Dean." He offers his free arm.

"No! Ick!" I say pointing to the girl and latch onto Michael.

Daddy laughs. "Are you jealous sweetheart? This is Harlow. One of Daddy's friend's little girls."

Who names their kid fucking Harlow? I glare at him to show him my displeasure. He's my daddy, not hers, but if he fucking wants to hold other kids, a _real_ kid, he can. I've got Michael. I sniffle a bit trying not to let anyone know I'm crying.

"Aww, Pumpkin Butter. Daddy's sorry. I should have known better. Michael, do you mind finding him some shorts, I'm going to give little Harlow here back and I'll relieve you of Dean duty. Okay?"

Now I'm just some 'duty?' Screw you daddy. I curl into Michael tighter and hide my tears.

"Yes, sir, Mr. Winchester."

We walk inside. "I'm going to need your help Dean. I don't know where all your shit is."

I point in the directions of the stairs, still sniffling. "Grow up. Quit being such a crybaby. Your daddy doesn't love that little girl more than he loves you, so just stop."

Ass. I squirm to get away from him. I've been looking after myself pretty well this party so far; I don't need you either, Michael.

Michael taps my diapered ass. It doesn't hurt, at all; it's just startling. "Stop it."

I do.

"More directions, Dean," he says irritated.

I point him to my room; when we get there, he puts me down. "Stay there." He looks in my drawers, not even asking me what I want, and picks out a pair of shorts and helps me put them on. He notices the leather throng around my neck. "You make sure to keep that hidden under your shirt—do not let my father see it."

I look at him funny. "Something you'll never understand."

Oh I think I would, but I'm sure he doesn't know any sign language and I'm not playing the game where I get him to try to guess what I'm saying, so I leave it.

"Look at your feet. They're all dirty. I hate it when things get dirty. We'd better clean these."

He considers the baby wipes, but grabs a soft cloth from the changing table instead. "All right. Lead the way to the bathroom pain-in-my-ass."

Maybe I'll punch _him_ in the nuts too.

"You deserved that. Do you have any idea how hard it was to get sparkles out of my hair?"

I might have an idea… I smile at him.

He hefts me up onto the bathroom counter, which is a lot of work for him, but he can do it and sits me so my feet are in the sink and my back is against him. He turns the water on.

"I didn't want to come to this thing. I was trying to keep my father away from your family, just remember that, but I've got almost no power, like this. Not that I had much power before," he sighs. "But you need to stay away from me Dean. Can you even understand me?"

Maybe if you tell me more information, douche.

"It's hard to say if you can. This Modlenol shit is fucked up. It messes with everyone differently. If only people knew, huh? But I guess when you want it; you don't care. Is that it Dean?"

Okay, that's a lot to digest. Was Michael spiked too?

"No," I say. "Uh-oh."

"No, that's not it?"

Oh c'mon Michael. You're usually better at figuring me out. I shake my head. He thinks. "No, but… they don't seem the type. Did these assholes spike you Dean? You just say the word—I'll take you away from here right fucking now."

"No, Dah-dee, Pah-pa," I say still shaking my head.

"It wasn't them. But it was somebody," he decides.

I nod.

He's quiet as he scrubs my feet with soap and I can feel his rage building behind me. Suddenly, the soap bar is flying across the room. "Jesus, Christ Dean. Now I'm just more fucking worried about you, dammit! What is it about you? I don't get it," he huffs. "Stay right fucking there."

He leaves me sit at the edge of the bathroom counter while he retrieves the soap. He's back and he's quiet now, scrubbing my feet like a crazy person. I'm pretty sure they're clean by now, but _you_ can tell him if you fucking want. He needs to do this and even I can figure out why—he can't do anything about the Modlenol spiking, but he _can_ clean my dirty, chubby little baby feet.

There's a knock on the door. "Michael? You in there."

"In here, sir." He doesn't stop washing.

"Thanks, Michael. I can take it from here… what are you doing?"

"They're dirty, sir. I'm cleaning them."

"You don't have to do that, Michael. I'll clean—"

"No, sir," he says in a voice that says _he's_ fucking doing it. "I'll do it."

Daddy studies him and seems to figure it out right away. The look on his face and the voice he uses; I recognize. It's the one he uses with Papa. "Of course, Michael. Thank-you. Is it okay if I sit over here, for when you need me?"

"Yes, Mr. Winchester."

Daddy sits at the edge of the tub, smiling like he does, and watching. I'm surprised he doesn't look concerned, because even I fucking am, but he is _something._

Michael rinses off my feet and starts the process again. I can see Daddy's brain working since I can see him by looking in the mirror. And when he starts the process for the fourth time, Daddy finally speaks up. "You know Michael, I could sure use a hand around here sometimes with Dean," he says. That's a bold faced lie. Daddy doesn't need anyone's help with one kid, even if that kid is Dean Winchester. He can look after a mass of them. "You can come by anytime you like. It would really help me out and you know, you can make sure he's okay."

Daddy emphasizes the last part of that sentence—that's the important part, I think. I think it's what gets him to stop washing my feet; he rinses them a final time. "Yeah, I'd like that, sir. Thank-you."

He lets Daddy come near me to help dry, but he makes sure I stand on the towel, so my feet don't get dirty again—as if Daddy would allow his floors to get dirty—and after that I don't want to get them fucking dirty again either. I thought he was never going to stop I don't want to start that up again.

"Michael, the food's all ready downstairs. I'm going to get Dean into some shoes that will _protect_ his feet, if you could take care of Dean, I mean, take care of getting his food for me, that would be great. You'll feed him for me?" I think Daddy's speaking very specifically, but I'm not sure.

Michael doesn't look like he wants to move, but he's better enough from whatever was happening before that he's not willing to tell an adult 'no' again. "Yes, sir."

"At least call me Mr. Winchester, Michael. I have a feeling we'll be seeing a lot of each other."

He nods and runs out of the bathroom. Daddy picks me up. I haven't really forgiven him for earlier yet, and I'm going to get him to make it up to me for fraternizing with that girl, but I let him. He kisses my crown. "Oh Dean Bean. Did you see what Daddy did?"

Well I witnessed it, yes, but I have no fucking clue what Daddy did. "Yeah. You're kinda little for that, but you and I are doing to have to have a long talk one day when you're bigger."


	22. Dean's Backyard BBQ Adventure (2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas and Sam feel in the middle of a crisis, but there's so much going on with the party. Nothing's ever easy.

~EARLIER ~

"A fucking 'magic' amulet. Sam?"

I know. _I know._ But I have to admit having that charm will come in pretty handy considering who our son is. "Bobby didn't seem concerned, Cassy. I doubt he'd let us, let Dean wear it if there was a problem."

"That's not my concern. Michael seems to know about demons too. And let's not forget, angels. I thought angels were good guys. Why the fuck would someone need an amulet to protect against angels?"

I pull him somewhere a little more private—it's not the right time for me to even consider scolding him for swearing, but there are little ones around.

"I don't know, but if Michael gave Dean something to protect him; do you think Michael knows something? Do you think Dean's in danger? Maybe someone from his old life?" I ask.

"Fuck. Maybe. I know I've been worried about the wrong things. If Michael knows something, we need him. We need to find out more and it sounds like he's got a vested interest in helping Dean—with the tools to do it. I'd rather Bobby move in with us and watch over Dean, twenty-four, seven, of course."

I know he knows that's unrealistic, so I don't say it. Cas needs me to support the things he's saying right now. He needs to be able to do something; plan something; punch something…

"I know Michael's just a kid, but maybe he's the next best thing. He is a moddler… oh God, do you think?"

"That Michael's in trouble? I don't know. I know I've been 'Team Michael' from the beginning—but maybe I was wrong, maybe he's not one of the good guys."

Cas is shaking his head. "You already know this, but I did freak out the other night because Michael seems a lot like me. I don't want Dean to have to put up with a me, please let me finish," he says just as I'm about to cut him off. I show him I'm going to be quiet. "I know we're better now, but it was hell for us Sam, just admit it—you never admit that. That's why I automatically hated Michael. But for the same reason, I know I've got to put aside my personal issues with that; if he is like me and he knows about the same stuff Dean does, he's top choice to protect Dean. Dean might need him whether I like him or not. And I still don't like him for the record, but I can bite my tongue for Dean."

Wow. Never have I loved my husband more.

"Of course we're going to learn more and have our security trained further—maybe Bobby can help in that department, but my intuition tells me, we need Michael," Cas says.

Cas has good intuition for this kind of thing—something I'm not as good at. "Whatever you say, Cassy."

He runs a hand through his hair. "Fuck. There's so much to discuss, but I think we'll be okay for tonight."

"Not mention Michael will be here with his father," I remind him.

"Right. There's also the possibility we're letting our imaginations run wild. Maybe Michael was simply a Hunter like Dean; maybe it's why he became a moddler—to start a new life. Maybe him giving Dean the necklace really was just a childlike fancy."

"Except why would he even still have that if he wanted to 'give up' being a Hunter? Dean didn't choose to be a moddler, it's why he tried to _continue_ doing hunter things. If Michael wanted to give it up, wouldn't he have gotten rid of all things 'Hunter?'"

That's as far as we get in our conversation. "Sorry to interrupt boys," Mama says. "But could you start grilling Sammy?"

"Sure thing, Mama. Just going to run in to change into this shirt and grab my apron."

I give Cas a look he knows means 'we'll talk later.'

He leaves to mingle and when I'm all set I take up mantle behind the grill. Of course it doesn't take very long before I'm accosted. "Sam! It's so good to see you." It's Charlie and she's got her adorable little Harlow on her hip.

"Heya, Charlie," I say hugging her. "And look at you baby, girl. You look so pretty in that dress."

She holds her arms out to me. "Sammy!" I grab her with my 'tong-free' arm and set her on my hip; she snuggles in. We see Charlie, her wife Dorothy and Harlow a lot. We met them through our church—but she's not one of the ones I have to worry about scolding us for not being there. The opposite in fact. I have talked with her on the phone and kept her up to date with the on goings of the Winchester household.

"We've missed seeing you Sam, but I see you've got a lot going on."

"Yeah. It's been hectic. I'm sorry we haven't been."

"Don't apologize to me, apologize to Linda—she's the one who seems to keep track of everyone," she rolls her eyes. "Nothing better to do that woman."

"We should get back to church though—I might have to find someone to watch, Dean. You're lucky you've got your mother-in-law in town to watch her." Back home, Cas and I are from such a small town, we did bring the babies to church, like Father and Mother Winchester were suggesting, 'cause everyone went to church, but I never liked doing that. It was always Mama, Georgia, Daddy and I trying to keep the little ones quiet while the sermon was going on. Things are a little different where we are now. Not everyone goes to church and often little ones are left with a friend, or a relative who doesn't attend. Of course some people do bring their babies, but Cas and I have other reasons for not wanting to introduce Dean to church yet.

"Yeah, there was no way we were bringing her—we didn't care what Linda had to say about it. But Harlow comes with us now, you don't see her because she's in Sunday school."

"Already?"

"Our church does Godly Play. She's been going since two and a half; I'll tell you all about it. It's fabulous and Harlow loves it. It's basically a worship service for kids—they get to play and learn about the Lord, so clever."

Godly Play? Huh. Never heard of it. We never had anything like that growing up. I haven't even had the chance to look into any Sunday School stuffs yet—we had all ours in the Colt family start around fourish. But maybe this could be a happy medium—Cas and I still have to discuss what would appease his parents.

"I'd like to hear about that. Dean's still too young, but in a year or so." When he can talk. I'm not leaving Dean with anyone but family, or close, close friends while he can't talk.

I notice she's drinkless. "No one's offered you anything! Forgive us, we're an organized hurricane—I'll keep Harlow, why don't you go find a drink? I see Caroline over there with something." As I look up, I also look for Dean and Bobby, but I don't see either of them. I bet Dean dragged Bobby off to try and talk 'hunter' with him. I don't know how much Dean remembers, but Bobby's bound to spark a few things in his little brain.

"Thanks Sam, I'll be right back."

"Take as long as you like. I can get my snuggle time in."

I have fun chatting to Harlow and showing her how I cook babyback ribs, and I love visiting with her, I do, but it's not the same as with Dean. I know you'll think I'm a sap for saying this, but I miss him. And I know, I just saw him about twenty minutes ago, but that's all it takes.

Now that I've only got my attention on grilling and Harlow, I keep looking up to see where my baby's got to. I look up and see Michael approaching, holding Dean who's somehow lost his shorts and shoes. Every time I see Michael carry Dean, it's this weird juxtaposition of awkward and usual. Awkward as it might _look,_ it doesn't seem hard as it should be.

Dean's glaring at me… No, he's glaring at Harlow. Lordy Bee. I have a jealous baby—I've experienced that before, but Michael also looks pissed, at me. What the?

"Oh, hi Michael. Looks like Dean's already found you." A tall, broad shouldered man is with Michael I have no choice but to assume is his father. They look _a lot_ alike. Same tumble of dark hair, face shape, everything, but it's really their eyes that give it away; piercing, and shrouded like eagles, eyebrows deep and spanning like wings. I'm staring, but I'm trying not to; I know it happens sometimes, for moddlers to return to their biological families once they've been de-aged, but, I dunno. I guess I just wasn't expecting it.

"Well someone needed to find him," Michael says. Ah. That's why he's pissed at me. I 'lost' Dean. Apparently.

After my and Cas's conversation, I was having mixed feelings about Michael. I'm not now. I don't know how or why it happened, but this boy is devoted to my son—he'd even dare to stand up to me _and_ in front of his father who he's referenced several times in a way that's made me think maybe Clyde Winchester has a clone out there somewhere.

"Don't be rude, Michael," the angular man says.

"Sorry, sir," Michael says, but none of the hardness leaves him. I'm a little bit afraid it might take convincing to get my son back.

"No, it's okay. Things are hectic and we're probably not keeping a close enough eye on him, I thought his uncle Bobby had him." I should probably introduce myself to Michael's daddy; I wish I could've met him under better circumstances. Jesus this guy's unnerving. But he's Dean's, first friend's Daddy and I want to make a good impression. I put my tong down, realize there's barbeque sauce on my hand; I wipe it off and extend it. All the while still holding Harlow who Dean looks like he wants to salt. "Hello, I'm Sam Winchester, you must be Michael's father."

"Pleased to meet you Sam," he says as a formality only. What the fudge is this guy's problem? "I'm Lukas Godfrey."

"Oh. Are you Jewish?"

"No. Not that that's any of your business."

Jesus Sam Winchester. Your mama taught you better than that. I didn't mean to blurt that out, that's not really polite backyard conversation let alone meeting for the first time, but that name. It's a little… well it's different.

"Um, sorry. Well my husband, Cas is over there. I'll introduce you later, but as you can see I'm…"

"No need to apologize. I can introduce myself. I can see you're… preoccupied."

He can't get away from me fast enough—I feel bad that I botched that up royally.

He excuses himself then floats away to Cas's direction—at least Cas will have no problems chatting to Mr. Prickly; he's good at that kind of stuff.

I'd better make amends with my pouty, jealous baby. "Okay. Here I'll take Dean."

"No! Ick!" He points to Harlow; I have to bite my lip to keep from laughing. But he looks really upset. Like, not his regular Dean upset, he looks heartbroken, like maybe I don't want him anymore.

I try to explain she's just one of my friend's little girls, but that ain't flying with him. "Awww, Pumpkin Butter. Daddy's sorry. I should have known better." God, how I must look to Michael now, who by the way, hasn't softened at all. I doubt he'll relinquish Dean easily anyway; best solution is to get Michael to get him dressed. I know it will make Michael feel better and calm some of his tense demeanor and it will give me a chance to find Charlie to give Harlow back. I feel like a complete ass though as Michael walks away with a sniffling Dean. "C'mon baby, girl. Time to find your mama." I hail Dal over to man my station while I'm away and hope I can somehow get Dean to forgive me.

~SDC~

"Can I give you a hand there Victor?" He's trying to juggle his little guy and his toddler.

"Cas! Hi. Long time no see man. I've been looking for you—Sam looked busy I was going to go say hi later. I just—Jayden's just potty trained, he has to pee and we're trying to make our way inside. I'm flying solo today…"

"Say no more. Give me Matthew—go on inside."

"Are you sure, Cas?"

I lift Matthew away from his daddy. "Yeah go before that little boy pees his pants—I'll show Matthew around."

"Thanks, man."

He runs off with Jayden and I bounce little Matthew on my hip. "It's just me and you buddy." I immediately notice the difference between holding Matthew and holding Dean. Sure Matthew's younger and floppier, but it's not that. There's nothing wrong with holding Matthew, but, well, fuck. I miss Dean already. I do a quick scan for him, but can't find him. "Let's go introduce you to my little man, buddy."

I don't get far. "Cas! There you are, we've been looking for one of you. And you have to settle a bet between us," Hale says.

"Behave yourself," Dalton says pulling his unruly sub closer to him.

"Yes, sir. But sir? The bet. You said—"

Dalton tugs on the chain at Hale's neck. "Heel, boy. We'll get to that in a minute. Sorry Cas—he's been excited to see you both." Hale calms a bit, soothed by Dalton's touch.

"Not a problem. He's right, it's been too long."

"Is that, Dean?" Dalton asks.

"No, this is Matthew. We were looking for Dean."

"Yeah, Sam said he was a bit older—he looked kinda small," Hale says.

"So what's this bet you two have going?" I ask.

Hale looks to Dalton and I know it's because he's asking permission wordlessly. Dalton nods. "Sir thinks having a kid has ended all play between you two; I think you two are kinky fuckers who can't help yourselves and wouldn't let a kid stop you."

Dalton swats him, hard. I know what that swat means and so do some of our other friends, but to the one's who don't, it might just look like they're goofing around; especially since Hale's smiling. "You said I could ask."

"Castiel and Samuel may not frequent the club anymore, but he was a well respected Dom. You know you should still be speaking to him as such."

He looks suitably chastised. "Sorry, sir. Sorry, Castiel."

Dalton's look to Hale is equal parts annoyed and amused. He pulls Hale closer, encasing him in his arms. I like watching them—makes me feel 'normal.'

I don't say things to Dalton like 'that's okay,' or 'don't worry about it.' Hale expects Dalton to 'keep him in line' when he strays. I would be out of line for saying such things. But I'm really not offended by his behavior—he is clearly just excited. "What's on the line for this bet?" I smile bouncing Matthew who's starting to wonder where his daddy went now that I'm no longer entertaining him.

"If I win, I get to test out each one of my brand new canes on his ass," Dalton smiles wickedly.

"If I win, I get to finally take this stupid chastity device off and have an orgasm—it's been a whole week Cas," Hale complains. Daltons nips at his ear.

"Well, I think perhaps you both win—Sam and I do still play, but not nearly as much as we did before and yes, it's sometimes because of Dean."

They both exchange a look. "I'll give you an orgasm, pet, but I get to try two of my canes," Dalton decides.

"He says that almost like he's checking to see if that's all right with me, but he's not asking—he's telling," Hale explains even though he knows he doesn’t have to with me. It's part of the game the two enjoy. Sam and I have spent enough time with them to know.

Dalton laughs kissing him affectionately. "He complains, but he fucking loves it, don't you babe?"

"Yeah, yeah."

We chat a bit longer and it feels good. When Sam and I were members of 'the scene,' I felt the most at ease. It helped my 'personality disorder' (don't tell Sam I called it that) tremendously. But it was hard on Sam to be a twenty-four, seven couple, which led us to where we are now. We still drop by once in awhile, at least we did before Dean, but it's not our everyday.

Then the weirdest fucking thing happens. I feel like an arctic wind is blowing in, my skin prickles, the hair on the back of my neck stands up. When I turn around there's a tall, angular man there. I recognize his sharp eyes: This must be Michael's father… but…

"Hello. I'm Lukas Godfrey, you're Castiel Winchester I hear."

Dalton is on guard too, while Hale—though not oblivious to whatever ever energy 'Lukas' has flurried in with—doesn't quite feel what Dalton and I do.

"Yes, that's me. Dean's father." I remember Michael always calls his father, Father. I also grew up in a strict home with a ridged father (you've seen) I know this guy's lingo. But while he's got similarities to my father, this man is clearly _not_ Clyde Winchester. My father is a good man, I don't know I can say the same for him.

"I am Michael's father. Our children have become friends. I wanted to meet you both—I met your _wife_ earlier." 

I want to slit this man belly to throat from that comment alone—no one talks about Sam that way. I've beat the pulp out of people for far less.

But while there are some areas I still need work, one of the areas I've improved in: I've become far more polished with my emotions as I've grown. And because of all the alarm bells going off, I know it's far better to keep on this man's good side, for now, until we know more about him. Dalton and Hale know Sam and I well. I can trust they'll know something's up if I'm not 'defending Sam's honor.' I'm sure Dalton can recognize my restrained rage.

"He's such a doll, my wife. It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Godfrey. Your son's a good boy."

"He isn't. He hangs out with the wrong crowd; I want him to make new friends. We joined the moddler group to nurture that. I wanted to make sure Dean came from a solid home before I allow my Michael to further this relationship."

Holy shit. I feel like I'm either in an interview or on a first date. This guy gets right to the point. I don't know if I can trust what he's saying, but what if Michael is hanging out with 'the wrong crowd?' It does make sense why his father would have him hang out in a group where the other kids are far younger.

I suddenly feel protective of Michael. The wrong crowd or not, something isn't right at home. I've got nothing to go on with that, just a gut feeling. "I can assure you Mr. Godfrey, Sam and I run a strict home."

Dalton and Hale are quiet, but I know Dalton's watching Lukas, studying him. Dom's have to be good at reading body language. For instance, I know to skip social etiquette, which would dictate that I introduce Lukas, Hale and Dalton. But I can tell Lukas has no interest in them, so I don't bother.

"I'll be the judge of that. We will stay for dinner; I will know my answer by then. We will converse again at that time." He sweeps away, much like he swept in and creepily takes up a position where he can see the whole party; not talking to anyone. People know to move around him and not to make eye contact.

"What the hell is up with that guy?" Hale asks.

"I know I don't have to tell you this Castiel, but the man is dangerous. It's not really my place, but maybe your son shouldn't be hanging out with this kid."

If only it were so simple.

~Later~

Michael seems better after Daddy lets him feed me then it's back to the 'ignore Dean' game. And I may be young, but I'm not stupid, him ignoring me is for his own good, not mine. Whatever. Maybe I should go stomp around in the mud.

I'm already getting tired by the time the music starts for dancing and I really, really hope Daddy doesn't find me. He'll know I'm tired and want to put me to bed for sure. But I want to stay up with everyone.

I end up hanging out with Uncle Dally, Lily-Faye and Hunter. They teach me how to line dance—well best I can anyway and Auntie Louisa presents me with my own little cowboy hat. I fucking love it. Maybe I would like it if Grampa Winchester bought me a horse; maybe I'll be a cowboy like Papa was.

Lily-Faye and Hunter take me with them to a group of the kids still at the party. They join into the games, but I'm mostly watching 'cause I'm kinda little for what they're playing now. There's like a billion kids still at this party—Daddy and Papa have a lot of friends; it's kind of overwhelming. But word is, when it gets dark, we're going to play in-the-dark-hide-and-go-seek. That sounds fun, so I'm waiting, I'm too little for hopscotch and double dutch, but I can hide—I was the king of hiding once.

Now that most of the food has been served (and all the pies are out on the picnic tables, as a serve yourself pie bar) Nana and crew can relax a bit and enjoy themselves.

I'm keeping a better eye on Daddy. He figured out how upset I was for cheating on me with that little girl, and I let him know that I'm the only baby he's supposed to hold. "All right, Sur," he said. "Dean doesn't want to share Daddy with anyone else."

"What's this?" Papa said, coming up to us hearing me try to tell Daddy off.

"I have a jealous baby," Daddy told him.

Papa wasn't any better. Asshole. "Ick!" I said, pointing to him with a cold look.

"What'd'I do?"

"Were you holding any of the other kids?"

"Well, yeah…"

"We belong to Dean, Papa. Dean doesn't want to share."

"Oh. And what happened to your speech on sharing, Daddy?"

"I know, I should, but Cas I think he feels like we'd rather have ' _a different kind of baby_ ' if you catch my drift."

"No way, Dean. C'mere." Papa took me. "Think about it. Why would we pick a boring baby over Dean?"

When Papa put it like that, it did sound kind of silly. But with them both feeling guilty, I was able to get two slices of pie out of them.

"You having fun, Sugar?" That's Nana. I run to her. I'm just watching what the kids are doing anyway, I'm too little and I know it, but they're nice enough to get me to join in where I can. They asked me to throw the little hopscotch rock a couple times, but I really fucking suck—I'd rather just watch. Besides I am tired (don't tell Daddy). This little body is just not equipped for partying. But I'm going to fake it best I can to at least make it through to the hide-and-seek game.

"Hi, Nana!" I squeal.

She scoops me up. "I'm going to miss you so much when we leave," she says kissing my face all over. She's silly. They've still got a whole 'nother week here. She doesn't have to miss me yet. "Can you keep a secret, just between you and Nana?"

I nod. "I think you're my favorite Dean. Lord knows I'm not supposed to have a favorite grandchild, let alone tell him, but you are. I love all my grandchildren dearly, mind, but there's something about you. I wish your daddies would move back to Texas, so I could see you more." She looks so sad. It reminds me of Grandma Winchester when she left. I know I'm Gramma Winchester's favorite; she hasn't got any other grandchildren, so that's no riddle, but Nana Colt has like a billion grandchildren.

I don't think that's any riddle either. I'm pretty awesome. It's hard not to fall for ol' Dean and now that I'm little and ridiculously cute? I could probably take over the world with that power alone. I can't believe I got jealous or worried about Daddy and Papa wanting a real baby. Papa's right. I'm way better.

"Don't you let that go to your head, Sur."

Too late Nana, it already has. She kisses me some more.

She leaves me to watch the bigger kids. I will note that earlier, there was a circle of younger kids doing baby stuff. But I wasn't interested in the least. Two of the other kids from the moddler park showed up, the set of twins, but that was all. They didn’t seem to want to bother with the 'babies' either, so I decided not to. The twins are bigger than I am, though and could play some of the bigger kid games better; the one's out of my league. But now, all the parents with young babies have gone home; including Desi (thank Christ) who seems a bit infatuated with me.

Thankfully Michael's daddy left after dessert, but to everyone's surprise, except mine, Michael asked to stay. I knew he wanted to stay, because he has a crush on Caroline. _Please._ She's way too old for him and out of his league. His daddy said he wasn't coming back to pick him up, but my daddy (after consulting with Papa in one of their special, secret, wordless conversations) offered to bring him home.

So I'm sitting on the grass, lying against a sleeping Pala as it gets darker, and waiting patiently to play hide-and-go-seek-in-the-dark while watching the big kids and periodically 'resting my eyes,' when Daddy shows holding a sippy cup of milk. I know what that means. "Look at you rubbing those eyes, you can barely keep'em open. It's been a long, tiring day, huh?"

"No, Dah-dee," I say pointing to the milk. "Peas, peas." I point at the big kids.

"You're practically asleep on Pala, baby boy."

"I think he's been waiting to play hide-and-go-seek-in-the-dark with us, Sam," one of the bigger kids says. He's someone's kid, I've lost track of who. There's too many damn people here. "He got really excited when we told him about it. Sat down and's been sitting there nicely ever since."

Daddy rolls his eyes. "I don't think so, Pumpkin. You're far too little for that. Say goodnight to everyone."

Daddy lifts me off of Pala, who doesn't even try to rescue me, and I decide to shriek. Since I'm the only baby left, it's loud and jarring and everyone stares at Daddy. He probably feels like a heel doing it (I can tell by his face) but he shamefully starts walking me to the house making attempts to console me, but I won't be consoled. I try to tell him I'd been waiting. _Waiting and waiting._ I use every sign I can think of trying to get him to change his mind, but he won't budge. Papa comes up to us. "Here I brought this, he okay?"

It's my soother and I take it from Papa, but the tears don't stop rolling down my face. I glare at Daddy. "He's pissed at me because I won't let him play hide-and-seek-in-the-dark," Daddy sighs.

"What if I played with him, Mr. Winchester?"

Michael pops out of nowhere and I'm suspicious of him. Why does he suddenly want to help me? Know what? I don't care. I want to go with him. Anything's better than going to bed right now. I still want to party and I really want to play the fucking game.

Daddy looks to Papa. Papa shrugs. Daddy says something with his eyes and Papa says something back wordlessly in a motion I don't even recognize. I swear they can read each other's minds sometimes, 'cause I sure don't know what they're saying. Finally Daddy turns to Michael. "Here," he passes me over and I go gratefully and sucking my soother hard, still a bit upset. "He's going to be cranky. It's past his bedtime, but you know, my mama says sometimes there are things more important than sleep," Daddy laughs. "I think he'll never forgive me if I put him to bed now. Please keep hold of his hand and don't let him run off. The property is pretty big. It's all fenced in, but still."

I can tell Michael has to work hard not to roll his eyes. He wouldn't lose me; it's my family always losing me according to what he's seen. "I won't let him out of my sight, sir, I mean Mr. Winchester."

"I'm sure you won't Michael." Daddy turns to me. "You be a good boy, okay?" He wipes the tear tracks away with his thumb. I nod and tell him thank-you with my hand. He kisses my cheek and Papa takes his hand.

"All right pain-in-the-ass." He puts me down and grabs my hand. "See these hands? When we're walking, they're glued. You don't let go for any reason, unless I say, and there will be absolutely no taking off on me—got it? First time you do, I take you straight back to your daddy and it's beddy-bye time for Dean."

Of course he remembers 'beddy-bye time.' Ass.

I nod though. I don't want to go to bed. I rub my eyes with my free hand and make sure to hold Michael's tight. "Okay. Let's go."

~SDC

This is super fun. _So fun_ , I can't stop giggling. "Shhh! They're going to fucking hear you. See? Your daddy was right. You're too little to understand the concept of hide-and-go-seek. It's why we keep losing."

I smile at him in the dark. We did keep losing; my laughing always giving us away, but the bigger kids were nice about it saying, 'hmmm… I wonder where Dean is?' Which would make me giggle more.

Why does he care anyway? He acts like he doesn't _like_ playing any kid games, so what's the big deal if we lose? I'm having fun; I thought he was doing this for me?

We're in the back of Baby—my idea, no one will probably look here; I think we're finally going to win a round. We leave her unlocked now since she's become more of an actual toy than a car for driving and I like coming to see her. People were tired of always having to go back and get the keys.

"Shh… I think someone's coming," he says covering us in the blanket in the back. I don't think it's kids though—they all have flashlights. The people coming don't. My heart's beating faster, 'till I recognize the voices approaching.

"We just want you to answer one question for us; we're worried and we promised Dean we wouldn't tell Sam, but we have a feeling you know about this." Fuck. That's Uncle Jensen. I don't need three guess to know they're talking about my secret compartment in the back of Baby's trunk.

Sure enough, one of them opens the front door of Baby and Michael and I hold our breath hoping they don't find us—without saying anything between the two of us, I know we both want to know what they're up to.

They reach in to pop the trunk and shut the door again; they notice us. I hear them opening the trunk. I can't see them lifting the slat, but I can imagine them doing it. "That ain't none a your business—that's what it is. Balls! You boys better leave well enough alone."

Suddenly I've gotten a lot better at playing hide-and-go-seek. I want to laugh at Bobby telling them off, but I don't.

"Look, is Dean in trouble with someone? That's all we want to know—some of this stuff looks pretty dangerous and we're worried. We want to help; whatever it is." That's Uncle Jared.

There's a long-ass pause then Bobby says, "it wouldn't _hurt_ to have someone else who knows—'specially someone in the family. You two look like a couple of idjits to me, but you're strong and dumb enough; it just might work."

"Hey!" That's Uncle Jen.

"You two forget what you saw here, and I'll be in touch with you. It's time for me to get, gettin'. I have to talk to Sam and Cas before I leave."

"But, you don't have our number, how will you find us?"

"I'm Batman. I'll find you." Someone shuts the trunk. Awesome line Bobby. Bobby is like Batman.

When it's pretty clear they're gone, Michael rips the blanket off of us and reaches in front to pull the trunk, again. I grab at his shirt. "Peas, no." I don't think the magic words are magic on Michael. Michael's the 'do whatever the fuck he likes' type.

"C'mon. You're coming with me—you don't leave my sight, remember?"

Yeah, yeah.

We go around back and he lifts the trunk. "There's nothing in here."

I shrug. "Dean. This is fucking important."

Fine. I reach my hand and to point to the bottom of the empty trunk. Michael gets it and removes it. "Holy fucking shit." He looks through everything. "This you?" He says when he gets to my box of fake ID's.

It was me; it's not me anymore. I nod, because that's a whole can of worms I won't be able to explain, even if I could talk properly.

"Wow. You were… shit Dean. _Wow._ " He looks a little closer. "Agent Springsteen? People believed that shit?"

I shrug. When you're that hot, people don't usually ask too many questions.

"Fuck. This is bad. You're _the_ Dean, aren't you? Dean the Hunter."

That confirms it; Michael knows about Hunters. To that I shake my head. "No." Because I'm not the Hunter. Not now. Maybe before, and maybe someday, but I don't even know what a Hunter is anymore. Not really.

"You know what I mean. You were Dean the Hunter then."

"Yeah." And it's fucking weird. Suddenly, all I do want is my sippy cup of milk, Daddy, Papa and maybe my blanket. Shit just got a little heavy for me. I start to cry and suck my soother harder.

"Shit. Don't cry like that, okay? I don't mean to scare you, it's just, my father can't find this, okay? I think after tonight, we're safe—your family is just the right amount, don't take this the wrong way, Full House, that you're off his radar for now. And I'm going to make sure he won't hurt you, okay?"

That's not even why I'm upset. I'm not worried about his father. Bobby's on that case and there's no one better than Bobby, except maybe me, before. But I realize for the first time, even though I didn't want it, and didn't ask for it, I've got this new chance at a different life and I want to live _this_ life. Did I even still want to be a Hunter?

I feel like something's forcing me, pulling me back to it and I just want to shut up the trunk and forget it's there for a while. You know?

But I nod at Michael, he can think he's a hero—he seems to like to think he's taking care of me, and he's being nice to me for now, so I'll let him. I point to him. "Am I a Hunter?"

I nod.

"I'm not a Hunter Dean. I'm the fucking Hunted."

What the fuck? I don't know what he is, but whether I want to be a Hunter or not, I guess I've gotta go down fighting. I look to my kick-ass trunk of stuff and I make a sorry attempt at trying to retrieve something, anything from my stash, I can't even fucking reach past the bumper. He laughs at me. "Even after everything, you still want to kill me? Don't you get it Dean? No I guess you wouldn't," he sighs. "Some of us are bad guys, real bad guys. But not all of us are—Hunters don't seem to see the difference."

He starts rooting around for something in my trunk. He pulls out a long, narrow, triple edged dagger with triangular cross sections. I can't for the life of me remember what that kills. "In my current state, you can kill me with this one Dean. Here, take it."

I do, but it's fucking heavy. I can't even lift it. He doesn't know what I know and assumes I remember, or maybe he just wants to tell me. Whatever the reason, he says, "that's right Dean. I'm an angel. Not just any angel, an archangel."

A fucking, angel? I fucking _hate_ those dicks. I met one once and that was enough.

"I'll help you kill me. If you really think I'm a threat to you, shove that into my heart."

I'm holding it around the hilt; he puts his hand over my hand and points it at his fucking heart. "Make the first move, Dean. Push. I'll do the rest. Go on."

It's an easy decision to make. "No!" I rip my hand out from his, since he wasn't holding it tight and Michael releases it too. The blade clatters to the ground. I'm not Dean the Hunter anymore, and even if I was I'm not killing Michael.

He's expressionless as he picks the blade up and puts it back into the trunk. "I get it. You're little right now, but you might change your mind someday."

I won't.

"Maybe I can get your friend Bobby to do it?"

I'm just the right height to punch him in the nuts, I make a move to do it, but he stops me. "Nice try. I may not have much of my angel powers, but I can defend my nuts against a scrawny thing like you."

I tilt my head. "Uh-oh?"

"Yeah, uh-oh. I've got almost no fucking grace. Just enough to call me an angel and keep this vessel alive, which is why you'd still need that fancy blade to kill me, but that's it. I'm far closer to a human."

Now I'm fucking worried about him.

"Don't look at me like that. I'm going to be fine."

He can worry about me, but I can't worry about him? Asshole.

"Okay, enough of this heavy bullshit. Let's go see if we can win this round." He shuts up the trunk, ending the conversation, and holds out his hand. "Like glue, remember?"

I put my hand in his. Yeah. Like glue. I'm not going to let anything happen to him either.

~SDC~

The boy can barely look me in the eye since what happened earlier, but he's faking it. "Dean said he wants you, Mr. Winchester."

I look at my sleepy boy; he's been crying. "What happened Dean Bean?" I say scooping him up.

"Nothing happened really. He was just cranky, like you said."

"You tired?" I ask him. Of course he shakes his head no into my chest, but he looks like a zombie baby.

Everyone's still having a good time. Some people have left. Bobby came by a little bit ago to chat with Cas and I before he left, and all the parents with kids Dean's age have left ages ago. The parents with bigger kids have stayed; Jen, Jared and Dal are going to light off some fireworks for them. Unfortunately I don't think Dean's going to make it to those. Cas and I are on the dance floor, we've been dancing since Michael left with Dean.

"Thanks Michael. I'll take it from here. Have you had pie yet?"

"No, sir. I mean, Mr. Winchester."

"Go'on and find Nana Colt, she'll fix you some. Then come watch the fireworks, I'll drive you home after that."

"Yes, sir."

I start rocking my sleepy boy; his eyes are already closing. Cas puts his arms around us. "This is a good song, Baby."

"Uh-huh. Did we dance to it during prom?"

"Can't remember. I was too busy thinking about how lucky I was. Did we even end up dancing that night?"

"A few times. At the beginning of the night, I think it was this song. At the end of the night, you sang me a song, but it wasn't this one. Do you remember which?"

"Yes. I remember now. I sang, 'Telluride.'"

"You changed all the 'she's' to 'he's,' hoping Tim Mcgraw would forgive you he ever found out."

"And hoping you'd runaway with me to Telluride someday, or at least to become a cowboy with me."

"Talk about emotional blackmail," I laugh.

"You loved it."

"I did. A lot of it was fun. Just not all the hell we caused our parents. I enjoyed being a cowboy with you though."

"I was the cowboy. You left."

"I raise kids, not horses; I know that, but I did all right while I was there."

"Yeah, you did Baby. He asleep?"

"He's out. You wanna pass me one of those blankets there Cassy?"

He grabs the grey blanket from the stack we put out for anyone getting chilly. It was a warm day, but it's starting to cool. I wrap Dean up good. He's like a stone and looks all sweet sucking his soother; his baby curls falling sweetly over his brow. I should put him in bed, but I simply don't want to part with him and I'm not going to.

Cas and I walk over with everyone to watch the fireworks, with Dean curled up on my chest. Michael joins us, sitting next to me. "You get enough, pie?"

"I did, Mr. Winchester. Nana stuffed me."

"Good."

Jen, Jare and Dal put on an outstanding round of fireworks and Dean sleeps through the whole thing.

Later, I take my car to drive Michael home. The very same one Cas bought me when we were sixteen. Yeah it's about fourteen years old now and I don't use it much, but I can't bring myself to get rid of it.

Michael's quiet.

"I meant what I said earlier, Michael. You can come by whenever you want and see Dean."

"I don't think that's a good idea, sir."

Like he'll be able to stay away, but I know they'll be no use in arguing with him. "Well, the offer is there, for anytime you like. If your father's all right with it, I can send a driver over, or Dean and I can come get you. It's really okay." I feel for him. Cas was right, as usual; he's just like Cas. The pain has probably already started and he's probably confused as to why he feels so attached.

"I'm sorry about earlier, sir."

"It's forgotten Michael. But… is there anything you'd like to tell me?"

He's quiet some more and I let him think. "It hurts, Mr. Winchester."

"I know Michael."

"How do I make it stop?"

If Cas and I had the answer to that… heck, if anybody did, love wouldn't have the power it does. No one can defeat love.

I don't answer his question; we're at the front gates of his home—it looks like the Godfrey's have money too. "Let me know if you want to come by Michael. My cell number is on this paper for you." I hand him the small paper, he puts it into his pocket.

He nods. "Thank-you Mr. Winchester."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there you have it. Michael is an archangel... or he was... That's a big piece, but there's so much more. I think I'm going to be writing this story forever. LOL.
> 
> After all Cas and Sam have been through, now Dean's going to fall in love with an angel? Oh dear. Not to worry, there's still going to be lots of 'cute' kid stuff. The Dean/Michael thing will be slow to develop, but I've been so secretive, I thought y'all deserved at least one juicy chunk. Thanks for your patience. 
> 
> When Dean and Michael get older, that will be a story of its own. Refer to comment about me writing this story forever.


	23. A Hunting We Will Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time for the Colt's to go, but not before one last fun adventure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really, really sorry for all of the mistakes you're going to find as you read; I edited less than usual. So tired though and just wanted to get this up for yah. I'll go over it tomorrow. 
> 
> Thanks to everyone for the great suggestions. Some will show up in the next story ;-)
> 
> Enjoy!

"What's with him?" Papa asks Daddy.

Daddy sighs. "Dean do it."

What? Nana taught me how to put my shoes on and I just want to try it. I'll let Daddy do it most of the time; I just want to prove I can do it. But it's super fucking frustrating. I whine and smash the stupid shoe on the ground. Papa crouches down at my level. "Can Papa help you, Kiddo?"

"No!"

Daddy laughs. Papa gets up and walks over to Daddy, probably to kiss him. "He's going to be there forever," Papa says.

"I know."

Jerks.

"How was work?"

"Good, but long. Where is everyone?"

"The girls decided they wanted to go shopping. Dal said he had some homework to work on and made Jamie go work on his too. Jared and Jen are, well let's just say they're out for the evening. They wouldn't tell me where they were going, so I assumed it was to pick up 'chicks.' The three younger ones are outside and Dean is supposed to join them, but he's been doing that for the past fifteen minutes."

"Stubborn. Wait 'till he's a teenager—we'll have our work cut for us," Papa says wryly.

I should be mad they're talking about me, right in front of me, but I'm too mad at this fucking shoe.

"I've got dinner for you Cassy. Everyone's already eaten, but I waited for you."

"Aww Baby, you didn't have to do that. That's why I texted to say I'd be late. I expected you'd all eat without me."

"Well, we had to feed the kids, but I wanted to wait for you. How you doing over there Dean Bean?"

He keeps trying to get me to let him help. "No Dah-dee! Dean!"

"I know, Sur. Dean do it. But don't you want to play with the kids? It's going to be bath time soon."

"No Dah-dee!"

Papa laughs.

"He's kinda tired. He had a good nap today, but our days have been filled with so much excitement it exhausts him."

Aha! Success. I've finally stuffed my little foot into the first shoe. I use my whole hand to smoosh down the Velcro things, which means they don't really line up perfectly, but it's good enough they stick. I begin on the second shoe.

"What about you Baby? How you feeling?"

"Much better. I hardly feel pain at all anymore. Just when I move a certain way. I rarely need the tea. I think I will have a hot soak tonight once Dean's in bed. It's been wonderful having my family here, to help when I need a break—this was really good Cassy. Thank-you."

"You've already thanked me."

"Is there a law against more than one thank-you?"

"Not in this house."

I can hear them kissing again. Ew. Sappy fuckers. Thankfully, I'm busy. This foot is proving to be as hard as the first foot.

"I think I'm well enough, you could spank me Cas. I'd really like that—if you approve of course."

What the fuck? Daddy _wants_ a spanking? He's fucking crazy. I remember Papa's spankings; he spanks hard.

"We'll see, Baby. I think you look a bit tired."

I hear Daddy getting stuff out of the oven.

"You're getting sad already? Aren't you?"

"I am looking forward to getting back to just the three of us, I am Cas, but yeah, I'm going to miss them."

"You pushed for this move, but I never should have allowed it."

"Cas, please. We said we'd leave that argument in the past. It's been resolved. But I can't help missing them."

Papa sighs, but it's heavy.

I finally get the other shoe and I'm so fucking happy. If Daddy's sad, I know this will cheer him up. I stand up, but it feels funny—something's not right. I attempt to toddle over to my daddies, but I lose my balance a bit and my upper body falls forward, I catch myself with my hands to the floor and straighten myself up again.

"Dah-dee!" I call coming around the island.

"Look at you sweetheart! You did it!"

Papa's smiling at me too. "That's great Dean. You did good, but uh, Sam do you want to tell him, or should I?"

Daddy's eyes 'say' something to Papa, Papa nods.

"I hate to rain on your Dean parade, but they're on the wrong feet, Sugar."

I look down. They are? I give Daddy a quizzical look. He laughs. "Can Daddy help you now?"

I can tell Daddy's a bit sad. I'd better let him help now. Doing stuff on my own is for the birds anyway. Why do it myself when I can just always have Daddy or Papa to do it for me? It's not like they're going anywhere.

"Yeah." I sit down. Daddy laughs. That's better.

He kneels down on the floor next to me, takes off my shoes and in seconds has them on the right feet. I sign thank-you and stand so I can give him a hug and kiss. He kisses me back all over and squishes me to him. "I have snuggle baby now."

Let's not go that far Daddy. I point to the door, "peas?"

"Okay." He places a final kiss on my forehead. "I'm going to take him out to the kids, Cassy. I'll be back and then it's a romantic dinner for two."

"I'll count the seconds until you return," Papa smiles at him.

Yuck.

~SDC~

"Try not to let him get too dirty," Daddy says putting me down.

"Ain't he gonna have a bath anyway, Sammy?" Lulu says.

"Yeah, I guess. Just stay with him then. Call me if you need me."

I'm excited. The big kids are always doing something fun. "You want your sue, Pumpkin?"

Hell yes. I open my mouth; Daddy puts it in. He laughs and leaves.

"Let's teach the baby our game!" Lulu says clapping.

"He's kinda little though," Hunter, the voice of reason says. "He might get scared."

"We can modify it a bit," Lily-Faye says. "Besides, Dean's pretty tough."

I'll be the judge of what I'm scared of. I want to play the big kid game.

"Well we found this little hide-out sort of place on the property. It's dark and we go in there with a flashlight to tell ghost stories. We try and see if we can scare each other and whoever gets scared has to run out here late at night, tag the hideout and run back to the house. But you won't have to do any of that Dean, you can just listen with us and man the flashlight. What do you say? Or is that too scary for you?"

Ghost stories? Scary? Puh-lease! It's too bad I can't fucking talk. I'd so pwn this game. I could scare the freaking pants off these kids; my stories aren't made up, they're real.

Can a baby roll his eyes? If he can, that's what I'm doing right now. "I think he's fine," Lulu says.

"I dunno—you sure? Sammy'll kill us if we freak him out," Hunter says.

"How 'bout we try for a bit and if he looks scared, we'll play something else?" Lily-Faye says.

Hunter looks skeptical, Lily-Faye's trying to reach a happy medium and Lulu who can sometimes be reckless like Uncle Jen grabs my hand. "C'mon Cowboy. These two'll follow."

When we get to the 'hide-out,' I see it's a sort of shack looking structure I've never seen before. It's built against a thickly trunked tree; the branches of the tree drape over the roof covering it; hiding it. It's got a doorway with no door and a creepy little four paned window. The slats of wood used to make the frame are short at the end near the tree trunk making the roof slanted. The wood looks old and weathered; it's been here a long time.

Actually, it is a bit fucking scary looking. Maybe we shoulda brought salt.

"We think this used to be some kid who lived here before's tree fort," Lulu says.

Yeah. A kid from eighteen hundred and thirty.

I hold Lulu's hand a bit tighter and suck my sue. Hunter grabs the flashlight they've kept here off a little shelf just inside the front door. The window is a really shitty window. It's covered in so much grime the only light coming in is through the door-less doorway. Of course we go to the back where there's even less light and sit on the dirt floor. I get a little tingle in my tummy. It's not really a bad tingle; it's kind of an excited tingle. I like feeling I'm 'one' with my Colts. This is what they do. Crazy, outrageous stuff that I don't think Winchester's would do. I mean I haven't met so many Winchester's, but they seem more ridged; sensible.

They give me the flashlight. It's small and not very heavy, I think I can manage it. I decide to sit with Uncle Hunter. No offense to Auntie Lulu, or Lily-Faye; he's just bigger. I don't doubt Lulu has enough spunk to take down a ghost.

"Okay, who wants to go first?" Hunter says.

"I do," Lulu says. "I'm gonna tell the story of where this house came from."

I laugh and the other two laugh at me laughing at her. "You think that's funny do you? See? He's fine. We'll let's see if you're still laughing after I tell the story."

"Once upon a time…"

Really?

"There lived a little girl name Ethel. She was just eight years old and she moved here with her daddy more than a hundred years ago when this place didn't have huge nice house on it. Her daddy was a poor farmer. One day she said: 'Daddy, I'd like it ever so much if you'd build me a house right there yonder by that willow tree.' He said he would, but he warned her: 'Ethel honey, don't you ever go out to this house by the tree after dark. You have to promise me.' When she asked him why, her daddy wouldn't say, he just said she had to promise and so she did."

Let me guess, the Daddy was actually a lycanthrope and that's where he went on the full moon to change? Been there. Seen that. It's surprising how many lycanthropes have tried that one. It's probably why the doorway has no door—he busted out, yada, yada, ate the girl and now her spirit haunts this place, right?

"She had so much fun in her little house and she loved to have tea parties with her dollies. She'd set them up and play with them. 'You bring your dollies inside the house now Ethel-May,' her daddy'd say to her."

"Why's her name Ethel-May all of a sudden?" Lily-Faye says.

"It's her middle name, so hush."

I don't know why they thought I'd get scared—I mean, made up or not, I see what Lily-Faye's getting at, she kinda wrecked the story by changing her name in the middle. I yawn, bored.

"What Ethel- _May_ didn't know was that her daddy got the wood to build this thing from an old, haggard woman who lived just outside of town."

And the old haggard woman's a witch. Yeah. Got it. People always think witches are ugly. Not always true. Usually they're pretty hot.

"She told him she had wood he could have for free, but the wood was cursed. When he told her what he wanted the wood for, she said his daughter would be okay, so long as she didn't go inside when the moon was out. And especially not on a full moon."

This is the dumbest story. Witches don't just give shit away.

"Ethel-May wasn't always a good girl. She left her dolls out and she wondered often what would happen if she came out in the night. One day when she came in, she noticed one of her dolls was sittin', lookin' out that window there. 'Huh,' she thought, she hadn't put any of her dollies by the window."

Now she has my fucking attention. I fucking hate doll shit—they creep me the fuck out. Thankfully the memory is seriously hazy, but I remember its stupid face—the face of the possessed doll I encountered on a hunt.

It matters little if this story is real; I'm getting a little scared, but now I've got to hear the rest, so I don't let anyone notice me sucking my sue a little harder.

"She didn't think too much of it. But she did get more curious about the little house at night; she figured something was going on in there. So one night, on a night that happened to be the full moon, when the wood's curse was the strongest, she put on her shawl, grabbed a lantern and headed outside."

You stupid, fool! Go back inside little girl. God I hope there's a Hunter in this story to save her, from her own idiocy.

"When she got to the house, she could hear talking. But the door was shut (this house used to have a door) and she couldn't hear proper, so she pressed herself up against the door to hear a bit better and it opened sending her flying through the doorway."

Of course she fucking did. I'm a little more forward on my seat, the flashlight pointed toward Lulu, but not in her face. I'm imagining the girl coming in here, all alone at night, to a room full of creeping fucking dolls.

"She found out who was doing the talking; the dolls! They were alive. The cursed wood was able to bring them to life, because they'd sat outside in the cursed little house under the power of the moonlight for many nights and finally under the light of the full moon. 'You!' One of the dolls said. 'We hates you! You leaves us!'"

"Are the dolls Gollum from the Lord of the Rings?" Hunter asks clearly bored.

"Shut-up, Hunter."

"Just askin'."

Yeah, shut up Uncle Hunter. Okay, the Gollum thing's a little cheesy, but this kind of shit can happen.

"Ethel Screamed. She tried to runaway, but it was too late, the dolls attacked her. The next day when her daddy couldn't find her in the house, he checked this house, but the door wouldn't open. To get in he had to smash it down. And that's when he saw Ethel. But now she was a corpse. The dolls scraped most of the skin from her face, but her eyeballs hung limply in the sockets."

"That's not scary, that's just disgustin' Luella Sue," Lily-Faye says.

"Wait. You haven't heard the best part. When her daddy tried to remove the body, the curse wouldn't let him. He even tried to destroy this house, but couldn't. When he went to talk to the old lady to see if she could help, her house wasn't even there, so he was forced to bury Ethel under this very dirt floor and now on every full moon she wakes up and if you come here at night you can hear her moaning beneath the dirt."

That's when Jamie jumps around the door, holding a dirty, creepy doll in his two hands and dances around with it; we all fucking jump except Lulu. Jamie and Lulu are laughing their faces off. "You set this up, Lu!" Hunter says.

"You shoulda seen your faces! We got you good. Now you have to come down here tonight and hope Ethel doesn't get you."

No! Don't do it! I don't even realize it, but I'm crying. I reach for Uncle Hunter.

"You guys have the baby?" Jamie says, tossing the doll to the floor. "Are you stupid? C'mere little guy."

Uncle Jamie isn't so good at the 'looking after type stuff,' but he is pretty good at recognizing what's appropriate for babies. It's probably why he often says he isn't appropriate care for a baby. But I know he can bring me to Daddy. Instead of going to Uncle Hunter, I let him pick me up.

"You scared him, Sam's gonna kill y'all."

"You scared him too," Lulu says.

"Yeah, but I didn't know he was here. You said it would be Hunter and Lily-Faye." He shakes his head. "I'll take him inside, but I wouldn't be surprised if you see Sam or Cas out here momentarily."

~SDC~

I can hear Dean crying before they're quite at the kitchen door; Pala's ears perk up. Cas and I've just finished dinner; we were enjoying a glass of wine together. I stand up. At first I don't panic like I might have a few weeks ago. It's common for Dean to be brought in having fallen and scraped a knee and needing either Daddy or Papa to kiss it better. But when I hear Jamie say: "Don't worry, Dean. I'm getting your papa." I grab Cas's hand and we walk out the door to meet them, Pala at our heels. She's very protective of her boy.

I'm glad to hear it—I love that Dean would cry for Papa, but let's face it; it's usually for Daddy. I'm kinda starting to learn some of the reasons Dean wants Papa. Dean's scared. Not that he wouldn't ever come to me when he's scared, he has, but I feel like this is the Crowley kind of scared and so I assume the worst.

"Pah-pa!" Dean says around his soother and dives for him. Cas looks at me as he takes Dean, Dean curls into him and grabs his shirt with his little hands. Soon as he's with Papa, his sobs become sniffles, but he's not letting go. Pala barks at Jamie, displeased he's brought her Dean back upset.

"What happened baby boy?" I say to Dean, running a hand through his hair, but my words are for Jamie.

"The kids were telling ghosts stories."

 _Ghost stories?_ Yeah, not stories to my son. Ghosts are real.

I must look murderous because Jamie says: "Before you kill me, Sam, I didn't know they had Dean, or I wouldn't have done it. Heck, I wouldn’t have let them bring Dean along."

I know Jamie and I know that's true. And this is such a 'Colt thing' to happen, I'm not surprised, but it doesn't mean I'm not going to find a certain three miscreants and chat with them.

"What did you do?"

"Lulu wanted to play a prank on Hunter and Lily-Faye. She'd tell a scary story and I'd jump out at the end and scare them."

Yep. Colt mischief. I kiss Dean's wet little cheek. "Dah-dee," he sniffles, still clutched tight to Papa.

"I know Dean Bean." I look to Cas and ask him without asking him if he's all right with me handling this. He might want to and I'm ticked enough I'd let him, but he nods to me. "Why don't you take Dean up and start his bath while I deal with them? I'll be right up. Jamie, lead the way."

Jamie leads me out to the old abandoned shed. We should really tear that thing down; we've just never got to it. It's been there since we got there, but it's really short and looks more like a kid's fort. I can see why they'd want to play in it. "Hunter Malcolm, Lily-Faye Anne and Luella Sue, out here now please."

"Christ! You got us into trouble, with your dumb prank Lu," I hear Hunter even though he's said that quietly. "Coming Sammy!"

The guilty party trudges out. "What's the matter with you three?"

"I told'em it was a bad idea," Hunter says.

"Right. It's always just my fault."

"It kinda is Lulu," Lily says.

"All right, enough. For future this game is too big for babies."

"But I thought he's a moddler? He's not really a baby, is he?" Lulu asks.

"He is baby, girl. He's a real baby, just a different kind." That's the best way I can explain it to her. "It sounds like your brother knew the difference."

"Sorry Sam, I kinda thought so. We shouldn't have done it. He was doing all right 'till he pops out with that freaky doll in his hands."

"I didn't know the baby was there."

I doubt Dean was doing well if it actually scared him—he's been pretty 'unscarable' 'till now. "Well y'all are familiar with babies—for now exercise those skills and if you're unsure ask Cas or I. Got it?"

I get four 'yes, sirs.'

Lily-Faye hasn't said a thing, I almost think she's scared of me, but I don't know why. But I don't find their actions punishment worthy. It was lack of judgment, but they're young and this is nowhere the level of what Jen and Jared did. They've earned a telling off, but nothing more. "So just what was this story anyways?"

Lulu looks at her siblings for help, but they've already thrown her under the bus. She gives in and tells me a quick synopsis and a run down of their 'game.'

"All right, no one's coming out here after dark, y'hear?"

I get four more 'yes, sirs.'

"Carry on. Inside in an hour, please."

I head back to Cas and Dean, but I hear, "he's like a legend in our family—I can't believe all we got was a telling off." That's Lily-Faye.

"We shouldn't piss him off anymore—rumor is he spanked Jare and Jen. Think of what he'd do to us."

I have to hide my laughter, I guess my reputation precedes me—the imagination is often so much more than real life; but if it keeps them in line, I'll let them believe that.

~SDC~

Bubbles: Check. Toys: Check. I think I've got it this time. Dean's calmed down and is happily playing with his mini shark squirting toys and telling me all about them, chatting behind his soother. I think I'm finally getting this baby thing, only Sam tells me he growing out of babyhood and into toddlerhood.

He's not upset about the whole ghost story thing anymore—I think he was more concerned than scared anyway. Of course now that he's calmed down, he keeps asking for a certain someone. "Dah-dee?"

"Yep. He's coming, Kiddo. What'cha got there?" I'm also getting better at this 'distraction' thing. I've been putting in a lot of effort; learning.

Dean holds out the little shark toy, says something and I pretend to understand his mumbo, jumbo. I know he's trying real hard to talk, but there's still not a lot he can say. I think he's on the verge of another word.

I wash him, starting with his body, which he doesn’t notice at all, lost in his world of play. And I start in on his hair, quite proud of myself for having mastered Sam's technique so no soap gets in his eyes, when Sam comes in.

I know he says he's feeling great, but he looks tired. Probably because he's feeling so great, he's doing more and not used to it and it's exhausting him, but because he feels so much better, he's not registering his 'tired.' Make sense?

"I solved the mystery," he says shaking his head. "Dean, sweetheart, do you think there's an Ethel May under the ground of the shack?"

Ethel May? Shack?

"The story the kids told him."

Ah.

"Yeah, Dah-dee," he says. "Bad."

"I promise you, Baby boy. There's nothing there. It's not made out of cursed wood; there are no evil dolls inside. He thinks the kids are going to go down there later and get eaten by her," Sam says for me.

The whole thing sounds ridiculous, but I know that none of it's ridiculous to Dean. In fact, because his memories of those times aren't as clear, combined with that he's viewing all that stuff through 'the eyes of a small child,' it probably seems a whole lot scarier. Compound that with his current vulnerability, plus wanting to 'protect' the big kids… Yeah, I can see why he freaked out.

And the even cooler thing? I see why he wanted Papa. Papa protects him from the evil creatures. Not that Daddy couldn't, but Daddy's got a different role; to nurture and coddle him. When I can see Daddy's reassurances aren't doing anything to ease his worries. I know what I need to do.

I stand up. "Okay, Dean. We're going on a hunt. Daddy, you get him dressed and Papa's going to get salt, matches and a shovel. We're going to make sure there's no Ethel May and if there is, we'll make sure she's ghost-meat."

Dean looks up at me and he's giving me that look again; the one that always puts extra pep in my step; the one where Sam tells me I'm Dean's hero. Sam's looking at me that way too and he's got a big smile on his face. "Papa will always protect our house and everyone in it, you got that Dean?"

Looking up at me with wide eyes; his soother still in his mouth, he nods. "Okay, we'll see you down there."

~SDC~

The big kids think my daddies are being silly, but because it sounds like a lot of fun and because they want to make me feel better, they're stoked to come on the hunt with us. I'm in charge of protecting Daddy, so I cling to him with one hand in his shirt; the other hand holding my own mini-shaker of salt.

I made sure they knew we need to dispose of the creepy-ass looking doll Uncle Jamie had—that thing is getting burned. I'm not really sure why, I just know it needs to go. Besides, if you saw it, you'd want it gone too on principle alone.

It's not quite dark yet, but the sun is going down, so we bring more flashlights. Papa's got the shovel for digging up her body and also some matches. Pala follows along with Daddy and I, keeping a close eye on me, she's excited too.

Papa's treating it very serious when he gets to the little house. I'm worried about him—he's never done anything like this before. I mean there was Crowley and they keep talking about a Tolpa, but Bobby was involved in those; this one's all him.

"It's okay, sweetheart. Papa's going to get her," Daddy says.

Do I look scared? 'Cause I'm not.

"This the spot?" He asks Lulu. Lulu shrugs at first, but then she nods, probably wondering why he's asking her where this 'made up' grave is; she doesn't know it could be real. Papa starts digging; he looks strong and fierce while he digs.

He digs and he digs, but there doesn't seem to be anything. Huh. Maybe it was just a story. But then Papa hits something.

He looks at Daddy worried. I think they thought they weren't going to find anything, probably why they brought the kids at all. Papa jumps down into his hole to investigate and I cling to Daddy harder. You know, to make sure he's all right.

"Where did you come up with that story Miss Lu?" Daddy asks.

"I swear; I made it up. Jamie and I found that doll in the back corner and it gave me the idea."

"Well, good news," Papa says hopping out. "No Ethel May remains. But I did find this. Maybe this really was a kid's fort at one time." He's holding up another fucking doll by its foot.

What the actual fuck? This is too coincidental for me; we need to burn that shit. I start flinging salt at it. The kids look a bit creeped out; even Lulu who's a pretty tough chick.

"Okay, we're all going to salt it Dean. Jamie throw the other doll in," Papa instructs. Jamie throws the doll in the hole and Papa adds the other doll back. All of us have salt in some form, so the lot of us stands around the hole Papa dug and start sprinkling our salt inside and over the dolls. Papa looks at me to see when it's enough and when I think we've got enough salt, I nod at him.

"Okay. Everybody stand back." We do and Papa throws the matches in, we watch the dolls burn to a crisp. Stupid, creepy little fuckers. "We good now, Dean?"

"Yeah."

After the hunt, Daddy said all the little hunters deserved some of his special homemade hot chocolate for a job well done. And I decide I want to go to Papa. I reach my arms out to him and he sets me on his one hip, so he can hold the shovel in the other. I pull my soother out. "Luv, Pah-pa," I say and give him a kiss on his cheek.

"Love you too, baby boy."

~SDC~

Cas looked like a proud lion all night. He'd saved the day, as usual; Dean was completely satisfied with how Papa handled things and excitedly tired to tell Nana and his aunties about it when they got home later. The rest of us helped him tell the story of course.

"Can I take care of you tonight, Baby? You look spent. I don't think anyone would mind putting him to bed for us—we should use the help while we have it."

I know my husband isn't really asking. I love that he always wants to take care of me. "Of course, Cas. I think we'd better give snuggle time away to everyone since they're leaving in a few days."

"Thank-you, Baby."

"Besides, I'm all turned on," I say into his ear. "You have no idea how sexy you looked digging that hole with your biceps bulging and dirt smudged across your brow and the fire in your eyes when told all your little hunters to salt the bad dollies… Mmmmmm…" The dirt's still there and his man smell is stronger from all the sweating.

"You don't play fair, Sam."

I'm sure he intended for me to go straight to bed after helping me wash up. "Shall we head up then?"

Cas growls possessively. "Let's go, Baby."

~SDC~

It's the night before everyone's leaving and I can't help the pit in my stomach. I always get like this; there's no help for it. I try to hide it from Cas—I don't want him bringing up moving back to Texas again, our life is here now. We can visit anytime we want and we do. We plan on bringing Dean back real soon. I try to focus on that, so my heart doesn't break.

"You okay, Sugar?"

"Oh yeah, Mama. Just gonna miss y'all like blazes."

She reaches across the table and smoothes some of my hair behind my ear. "Likewise you know. We miss you and Cas, Sammy. And everyone's fallen in love with little Dean—he's precious. I know I keep saying it, but I'm so happy for you—you've got a little one of your own now. And I know my Sammy always raises good men and ladies."

"Thanks, Mama. We'll come this summer—that's just a few months away. Dean and I will stay between you and the Winchester's and Cas will fly in and out. We've already been talking."

"Well I'll look forward to it then. And make sure you talk to Dally tonight—he's been meaning to talk with you about something, but you know Dal, he's afraid to bring it up."

"I think he's putting Dean to bed tonight. I'll go find him, Mama."

~SDC~

I can hear Dally talking to Dean when I reach the door to his room. They're sitting on Dean's rocking chair, Dean in Dal's lap and looking through the picture book Mama and everyone put together for us.

It was a surprise for Dean, Cas and I. Unbeknownst to us, everyone had been snapping photos here and there of our visit and when Mama and the girls went 'shopping' they were really putting the photo album together.

Dean _loves_ it and insists is be 'read' to him before bed.

I hear Dal's southern drawl say, "there you are as the sparkle baby, half-pint." Dean giggles.

"And my word, is that? You're naked! Everyone can see your little Dean hanging out."

Dean laughs again, apparently not offended when cool Uncle Dal calls his penis 'little Dean.'

"Now let's see, I believe there's a picture of Dean with each aunt and uncle. Should we find them half-pint?"

"Yeah." 

I have to wipe away a tear or six. I love it. I love all of it—watching Dean interact with my family. But there's always been a special place in my heart for Dallas. Since Dal was born, he latched on to me harder than anyone had. Sometimes having Dean reminds me of him; even though the two are completely different in character, they both cling to me the same way.

There was a time when he wouldn't go to anyone but me. Even over Mama, which speaks to how unique our relationship was. Dal was always my soft-spoken, quiet boy; unless he was upset, then you heard him. He took it harder than anyone we announced we were leaving. We keep close of course.

Looking at the two I hope they'll become close, Dal would be really good for my son. I keep listening for a bit; they're so darn cute.

"Hey! Who's that with, Dean?"

"Dah-dee!"

"And?"

"Pah-pa!"

I figure that's when I'll make my presence known. "How many times have you made Uncle Dal read that picture book to you, Mister?"

"I'm only on the second round."

"All right, I only came to kiss my little monster goodnight and Mama said there was something you wanted to talk with me about?"

"Right. Well I've been thinking about how to ask you and well, I'll just come out with it. I was accepted to Stanford, Sammy." He's smiling.

"My own alma matter! That's so great Dally—I'm proud of you."

"Thanks. That means a lot; I was hoping to do you proud."

"Very much."

"I've already talked it over with Mama and Daddy and if it's all right with you and Cas _and_ Dean, I was wondering if I could move in here while I went to school? I know you don't _need_ help with Dean, but I'd love to look after him sometimes. And I know you have particular rules in your home; I will respect them all, or suffer any consequences you see fit. I doubt I'll be around a whole lot anyway… I'll make sure I'm not trouble—"

"Whoa there little bird. You don't need all those qualifiers. Of course I'd love to have you move in with us—I have to run it by Cas of course, but I know he'll approve." Dally's never been trouble for me, ever. He always followed my instructions to the letter, rarely complained; I've _never_ had to punish him—Jared and Jensen can't say the same. Oh fudge. I'm crying again.

"Dah-dee?"

"Don't worry about me sweetheart, these are happy tears. When would you come?"

"Well, there's still a bit of high school left and I thought I'd stay the summer at home—I was thinking the end of August?

"That'll be perfect! We're coming out there this summer, if it's all right with Cas, we'll stay a bit longer; time it so we can all fly back together. Why were you worried about asking me this? This is wonderful Dal."

"I know you and Castiel have your own lives going here, I didn't want to intrude."

"Not an intrusion. Far from. This is happy news. What do you think Dean Bean? Would you like your uncle Dal to live with us for a bit?"

"Yeah Dah-dee!" Dean says clapping his hands.

I'm so excited I'm almost bursting. "Up! Up you two—this calls for a group hug!"

~SDC~

Daddy and Uncle Dal have been hugging for far longer than is socially acceptable. Okay, it might be socially acceptable, but it's not Deanceptable. I want out of this Friday, family fun night special. They can keep hugging and jumping around all they want, just put me down. "Ick Dah-dee!"

"Okay, okay. I think it's sleepy time for babies anyway," Daddy says when they part and unsquish me.

"No. Peas Dah-dee?" I say pointing to where they put the book. I want to read it again.

"We'll read it tomorrow baby boy. Besides, I have a better idea." He looks to Uncle Dal and Uncle Dal seems to know what he's thinking. Then they start fucking singing.

"Baby let me be…"

"Your teddy bear."

"Put a chain around my neck…"

"And lead me anywhere."

Then they sing together: "Oh let me be… your teddy bear."

They sing through the rest of the song, dancing and passing me back and forth like a couple of lunatics, the whole time, I'm completely subjected to their cheezy dance moves and, well, they are good singers—least it's Elvis… Uncle Dal has a rich southern voice.

"Hey. What's going on in here?" Papa comes in, just as they're harmonizing their last line. Thank God! Not a moment too soon Papa! He'll save me, he's much more level headed; Daddy can be really silly sometimes 'cause he used to be a Colt. I reach for Papa and he takes me.

"We were asking to be Dean's teddy bear, Papa," Daddy tells him.

And, oh no. The look in Papa's eyes. Fuck. I know where this is going.

"I don't wanna be a tiger, 'cause tigers play too rough," Papa joins in. They all start up again.

I get passed to Uncle Dal and he sings: "I don't wanna be a lion, 'cause lions ain't the kind you, love enough."

Jesus. Is this what I'm in for with Uncle Dal moving in?

They finish with another round of the chorus and when they finally put me in my crib, they're all staring down at me. I'm ready for sleep if they'll just go away. "Sue, peas," I say with my hand out.

Uncle Dal gives it to me. Before I shove it I my mouth I say: "Guh-on. Bye-bye."

They all laugh at me. "You don't want any rocking tonight sweetheart?" Daddy asks.

"No."

"We too silly for you?" Papa asks.

"Yeah."

"Oh, you loved it, Pumpkin," Daddy says and tweaks my nose.

I put my soother in, not saying another word to the three madmen. I might have liked it a very little bit, but I'm not going to admit to it.

"Goodnight, Sugar," Daddy says.

"Don't let the bed bugs bite, half-pint," Uncle Dal says.

Shit? Bed bugs?

"Sweet dreams, angel," Papa says and he leans down to kiss my cheek. "There are no bed bugs," he whispers in my ear. "Papa already checked for them."

~Just over a week later~

The house feels fucking empty. I don't know what to feel about everyone gone—but I think I don't like it. I mean—I like having Daddy and Papa all to myself, but I miss everyone so fucking much. It's been almost a week since they've left and I had been asking Daddy everyday "Nana?"

But after the fifth day, he got tears in his eyes. It made me sad, so I stopped asking.

"What you want to do today, Dean Bean?" It's just Daddy and I. Papa's at work. Daddy has a big appointment tomorrow with the doctor. He's going to tell him if he's okay or not, if his ribs are all healed up I mean. I shrug. We've eaten breakfast and cleaned up from that—well Daddy did, even though the house staff is back.

"I thought we'd go to the water park, with Pala, but there will be lots of little ones, would you be able to handle that?"

I make a sour face. I mean, it might not be so bad, the water park sounds fun. It would be more fun with Hunter, Lily-Faye and Lulu.

"You miss everyone, don't you Sugar? It's okay, you can say so—Daddy won't cry. I miss them too."

I nod.

"I have an idea. Let's go see Papa at work. We'll drop some lunch off for him, _then_ we'll go to the water park. Maybe you'll make a friend."

Daddy's very concerned about me making friends since everyone left. I don't need friends though. I've got all the people I need in my life. "We'll see them again in no time. Remember how I told you we're going to stay with Nana and sometimes Gramma Winchester. Would you like that?"

I hadn't realized just how sad I'd been feeling 'till Daddy reminded me of that. Looking forward to seeing everyone is uplifting. "Yeah, Dah-dee."

"Good, but I might need your help convincing him to let us stay a little longer—Papa doesn't like Daddy to be away from him too long. I think he'll like Dean away from him even less."

No problem, Daddy. I'll just use the magic words. Obviously.

We pack stuff up. I help Daddy by suggesting what we'll need from the fridge and I even try to put my own shoes on, but I still can't get the right feet, so I let Daddy help me with that. Nana said it was important for me to let Daddy help. She said if I grew up too fast it would make him cry. No one likes Daddy to cry, especially Papa and I.

I point to my cowboy hat, which now hangs by the door. "Dat," I say which is 'that.' I learned a new word. So now I say it all the fucking time.

"You want your cowboy hat, sweetheart? Are you daddy's little cowboy now?"

"Yeah."

Oh. And I forgot something. "Dat, peas."

"You remembered your manners on your own. What a good little boy Daddy has today." I've been working real hard to make Daddy very happy. Much as I am sad about the Colts leaving, Daddy's sadder.

He plunks the hat on my head. "All right Pumpkin Butter, let's go."

We let the drivers drive us today. And… okay, I have to tell you something that might make you upset, but hear me out: I asked Uncle Jared and Uncle Jensen to drive Baby to Texas with them.

It's just a loan. I had Uncle Dal help me make up a contract that promises they'll give her back to me when I'm sixteen. But I figured out I was actually fucking scared by what Michael said when he told me his father _cannot_ see what's in the trunk. And Michael knew who 'Dean the Hunter' was, I'm worried his daddy does too. Baby is kinda conspicuous; I was fucking worried—I don't want anything happening to my daddies.

I can't do shit right now, and I won't be able to a long time. This was all I could do, so I had to let her go. Daddy and Papa seemed to understand. They don't know my real reasons, but I know they suspect it has to do with my old life and since I couldn't really explain it to them real well anyway (even with signing) they just trusted me. They could tell it wasn't a two-year-old decision and that is was out of their realm.

That part scared me more than anything. I wasn't even hunting at this age in my old life and as fuckface, Crowley said, I couldn't even draw a proper Devil's Trap because the Modlenol made my body 'forget,' and of course, anything I forget has to be relearned.

But I made that decision.

Maybe I'm just a Hunter, always was, always will be. Maybe it's a curse I was born with—it's my destiny. I have no fucking clue. But after the whole thing I asked Daddy for my soother and blanket and rocking on the chair together.

Either way, some of me is changing from before; I can feel it. I'm not going to be the Dean I was before. I'm going to be Dean Winchester. I'm looking forward to see what shape that takes. I'm enjoying being a little boy (shut-up). That's the truth of it. I don't want to think about hunting for now. I know it's there and it's complicated by the fact that my new friend is an angel, but I'm going to let Bobby take care of things for now; I'll worry about it when I'm grown up.

But I did keep one thing: The angel blade.

It was tricky, but I was able to get Uncle Jared to help me with that one. We hid it; I don't want anyone to know where it is. It's not for killing Michael; I know he won't hurt me, but I doubt he's the only angel around.

In the car, Daddy sings me a song I like and gives me one of his special crackers I eat while I hold my soother in one hand. I love my fucking soother. I'm keeping this thing a long time. Oh, sorry. I'm a little defensive about it. I overheard Papa asking Daddy how long babies are supposed to have soother's for. It made me feel like he was thinking they should take it away.

But Daddy told him it was different for all babies. Uncle Dal had his 'till he was four.

Oh and Papa was totally fine with Uncle Dal staying with us, so he'll come back at the end of the summer. That makes me feel a bit better too. I love Uncle Dal.

We have to leave Pala in the car when we get to Papa's work, but don't worry, all the windows are open and the driver's keeping an eye on her. Papa's work is a big building with lots of people who seem to know Daddy; they treat him like a celebrity and they coo over me. It's hard being this cute sometimes. Papa looks real important in his office. He's happy to see us. "What's all this? Did Daddy bring me a mini-cowboy?"

"Dat," I say, pointing to the lunch bag Daddy brought in. He puts me down so I can go explore stuff, case the place out.

"Dean and I are going to the water park, we wanted to stop and bring you lunch."

I'm working on trying to climb up Papa's chair—his desk looks interesting. "You be careful over there, Sur," Daddy says as Papa comes behind me to help a bit. It's a wheely chair, and it keeps sliding away, but with him to assist me, I'm able to get on it. Wow. There's all kindsa neat stuff up here. I grab a pen. Papa will probably like a picture on one of these papers, especially if I draw it. He always tells me how much he likes my pictures and I know work is important to him. This'll be kick ass.

"Don't worry Cassy, I know the water park is new. I decided to put something on I knew you'd like; that I knew would make you more comfortable. I also came to give you the key."

I have no idea what they're talking about; I'm working hard on my picture. Probably some sappy love shit—they're always doing that.  
"God I'm lucky. What I ever did to have you, I'll never know. Thank-you, Baby."

See? Sappy love shit.

"Oh fudge. Dean, you can't draw on Papa's papers. Sorry, Cas." Daddy grabs me away and I squeal. Hey! I was drawing a rifle for Papa.

"It's okay. I'll get James to print me new ones of those. Were you trying to make my work stuffs nicer to look at?"

"Yeah." See. Papa gets it. I glare at Daddy from my spot on his hip.

He ignores my glare. "Lordy Bee, Dean. I have to keep more eyes on you than I did with any of your uncles and aunties."

"I'm glad you stopped by. You okay, Darlin'?" Papa says.

Their talking is boring, so I try to squirm away from Daddy. He puts me down again. "You be a good boy, Mister."

Of course I will.

"I'm fine Cassy, I promise."

I'm pretty sure I see something in the plant pot in the corner. What if something bad is buried in there? I'd better check it out for Papa. I toddle over that way and since I don't have a shovel, I just used my hands. When I don't find anything on the top, I keep digging deeper. A little dirt's getting on the floor, but this is important so I ignore the flying dirt and dig faster.

"Okay. I hear you Dean Bean. I have a bored baby." He grabs me away again and dusts off my hands.

"Dat, Dah-dee," I say pointing.

"I know. You were digging in the dirt and making a big mess. Offices aren't places for babies anyway. We should go, Cassy," he says sitting me on his hip again.

Papa laughs. "I think some Colt got into him."

"Just what we need," Daddy teases.

"Thanks for lunch, Dean," Papa says. I sign 'you're welcome' to him. I know lots of signs now and can let my daddies know some of the simpler things. We taught Papa lots too.

"See you two at home." Papa gives us each a kiss before we leave.

~SDC~

Daddy takes me to the water park, which I'm not really looking forward to; I'm doing this mostly to please Daddy. But when I get there I see someone I haven't seen in a little bit.

"Thanks for coming, Michael," Daddy says. Michael's dressed to play in the water wearing a pair of board shorts and nothing else. Pala barks at him, in greeting—she likes Michael, but can't get to him, since Daddy has her on a leash.

"No problem Mr. Winchester."

I run to Michael's legs and put my arms around them. "Mine." I look up to see him rolling his eyes and shaking his head. He picks me up.

"Just for today."

"I'll be on the bench over there reading with the puppy. I want him to get some vitamin D, so I haven't got sunscreen on him yet, could you bring him by in fifteen minutes?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good."

Daddy crouches down and peels me away from Michael so he can take my shirt off, of course he leaves my Michael necklace on. "Off?" I say grabbing at my crotch.

"Nope, you're all set Pumpkin. Daddy put a swim diaper on you—you can get it as wet as you like."

Rats. I was hoping to be naked Dean today. He takes my shoes off too. "Okay. Be a good boy—stay with Michael." I let Daddy take my hat. Normally he likes me to wear a hat in the sun, but it'll get all wet.

I nod and take Michael's hand.

I have no idea why Michael came to be with me today, but I'm stoked. I fell asleep on Daddy and didn't get to say bye last time. I wasn't sure if I'd see him again since he seems pretty hell bent on not seeing me.

"I'm not even going to pretend to be good at this, Dean. You want to play with something, you'll have to tell me."

"Dat," I say pointing to some little water gun shooting station. It's inside a water filled pool, but the pool isn't deep, it only comes to just over my ankles. Michael takes me over to it and lifts me to the stool. I look to see where Daddy is. He's close by and though he has a book, he's not really reading it. He's got two eyes on me. He waves and I wave back.

There's all these things I can shoot and I'm actually pretty good. I'm having fun until another kid comes by. A kid who's a little fucking snot rag. "Get off. I'm having a turn now."

I've learned a lot recently about taking turns with people. I don't fucking like it, but I know it's gotta be done or Daddy will take things away. But I also know there's a nice way of asking; you're supposed to use magic words.

I'm not giving up my turn until this kid stops being a dick. I don't have to say a thing though.

"Beat it. This is his 'till he's finished," Michael tells him.

"I'm telling."

"Go ahead. And maybe you'll find yourself breathing water." The look he gives the kid makes him turn green and run away crying.

I turn around and glare at Michael. Don't get me wrong, I agree that kid's a total douche, but Michael didn't need to _threaten his life._

"I wasn't going to do it; I was just scaring him. That kid's going to turn into a bully if people let him get away with that shit."

"Bad," I tell him.

"I don't give a fuck. That kid was being a little prick to you. Anyone else who treats you like that can expect the same. Deal with it."

Maybe we should play somewhere else anyway before that kid brings his older sibling or something and then Michael goes all angel on them and turns this water park into a blood bath. I point to the big red 'umbrella' thing that's raining water. It's within the shallow pool as well—this whole place is. "Dat."

"Yes, sir," he says sarcastically because I'm being a demanding asshole. I like this though. With my daddy watching, Michael will probably do just about everything I want.

I have fun running though the water pouring down from the 'umbrella' and scooping water with my hands trying to splash Michael. I giggle. "You think that's funny do you?"

"Yeah."

"Well bad news for you—we have to go see your daddy for sunscreen."

Rats.

I'm dripping wet and Michael's pretty wet too when we reach Daddy. Pala's actually still for once, sleeping in the sunshine. "You boys having fun?"

"Yeah." I tell him thank-you in my special way. I'm really glad he arranged for Michael to be here.

He starts in with the sunscreen. I don't like when he lathers sunscreen on me, sunscreen is ick, but I know he won't let me go play without it.

"You need some Michael?"

"No, sir. I'm all set." Yeah. Angels probably don't need sunscreen or something like that.

"Thanks again for offering to spend your professional development day off of school with Dean."

"It was no problem Mr. Winchester. My father was pleased. He had work and would rather my time was occupied."

"You don't have a mother Michael?"

"No, sir."

"I've got lunch packed for all of us, go play some more, and when you get hungry, come back and I'll set us up."

I want to go back to the umbrella thing of course. Michael let's me, but he sits down underneath as I play and splash some more in my little red shorts. "'Lukas' isn't really my father Dean. If we're going to do this friend thing, I should tell you a little bit. Not that it's any of your business, but," he sighs. "It felt nice to tell you some stuff the other night. I haven't been able to tell anyone. I like having… a confidant."

I knew 'Lukas' wasn't his father. "He's my brother. We're both archangels, Lukas's real name is Lucifer."

Lucifer?

"For all intents and purposes, he is my father—don't let him hear you or I say any different. It's complicated, but basically, our real father was mad at Lucifer. Lucifer didn't like all the attention God was giving to the humans—are you understanding any of this Dean?"

I'm almost two, not an idiot. I nod and scowl.

"Don't give me that look. How am I supposed to know? This Modlenol is pretty fucked up. Even I forget some things—it's why Lucifer did this to me. But I'll get to that. To punish Lucifer, God sentenced him to Earth to watch over the humans for all eternity. I was sent with him to help and since I was kind of our father's number one son (even though Lucifer is his first son) I came willingly—how stupid was I? Anyway, I did and I left heaven knowing I could never return. I can't even switch vessels—this is it for me Dean, I'm locked in this body and I've got no wings. But it's the same for Lucifer. Our father picked a family who was willing, a father and son so we'd blend in as such. It's why we look alike."

Holy fuck.

"It was quite a long time ago. The father was almost fifty and the son almost thirty. That's how old I once looked, thirtyish, though I'm not really any age—well not one you'd be able to fathom anyway. I've been in existence a long time. We've been on Earth for millennia.

"I angered Lucifer, he took my grace, most of it, but I still hold some power. He has to leave me enough grace to keep my vessel 'alive' and 'well.' But as soon as he found an angel brand Modlenol, he did this to me. If I obey him he let's me grow, if I don't; Modlenol. He had this brilliant idea that if I 'grow up' new, I'll look at him as a father. Sons are supposed to obey and respect their father's, he figures that bond will be forged between us. In his own twisted way, it's also him attempting a family. It might not seem it, but he cares about me, least he thinks he does. If he didn't, he could just kill me."

As soon as I'm bigger, I'm going to kill dick face Lucifer.

"I know what you're probably thinking; tell God what's he's done, have God deal with him—I've tried. God is gone. It's one of the many reasons Lucifer's punished me. I've been able to make contact with Heaven; I've talked to some angels, no one knows where to find God. I've been on my own a long time."

I'd stopped splashing a while ago listening to his story, but now I make my way over to him and put a hand on his knee. "Dean," I say. He's not alone now. He's got me.

"Yeah. I think somehow we're connected Dean. I don't know how, but I think I'm supposed to protect you."

It sounds like he's the one that needs protecting. "Needless to say, when Lucifer found out I'd contacted Heaven, he was pissed. I've been trying to get back in his good books a long time, and I've earned some 'age,' so to speak. I think it would be the equivalent of two years. Most people seem to think I look eight or nine, before it was five or six. But age is a relative term for me. Some days I do feel like a young human—this Modlenol is very strange."

"So there it is Dean. You won't hear me refer to Lucifer as anything other than father—he's often got angels watching me. But I think we're okay under this water contraption and I'm fairly certain no one else is around today. That's why I wanted to take this opportunity to tell you."

Wow. Michael _wanted_ to tell me stuff about him. Makes me feel special. I'm also worried about him too.

"Anyway, we'd better go play. Enough of this heavy shit. You hungry yet?"

I'm Dean Winchester, I can always eat, but turns out, this water place is pretty fun. "Dat," I say pointing to the giant turtle sitting in the water, I want to climb it.

Michael helps me and we play on the large turtle for a while. I hear a small voice say, "please?" To Michael. There's another little boy who looks a bit bigger than me, but smaller than Michael, he wants Michael to help him up. Michael ignores him.

"Peas?" I say to Michael thinking maybe he just didn't hear the kid, but I'm pretty sure he did.

Michael gives me a look that even I'm afraid of. "I thought we were playing together."

"Peas," I say as a demand this time. The little boy joins in and says "please," again. This dude is different than the other dude. He's using his nice manners and he seems all right. I say he can play with us. Why's Michael being such a douche?

"Scram kid," he says. At least it's not a death threat.

The kid runs away crying. I'm going to punch Michael in the face. I cross my arms at him.

"Well? I'm not looking after two of you."

You're a fucking angel Michael, you can look after two rug rats. My daddy can look after several and he's a human. Lazy asshole.

We play awhile longer and Michael decides it's time for me to eat, I think he's just tired of being wet, but I love it.

Daddy sets up the food, while Michael towels us off. I wonder if Michael even needs to eat—whether he does or not, he ends up eating the sandwiches Daddy brought.

"You're really good with him Michael. And Dean likes you—he doesn't seem to like other kids."

"Thanks Mr. Winchester."

Michael has no idea how fucking big a compliment that is from Daddy. Daddy knows kids.

Daddy has my sandwich cut up into little pieces for me and I eat them carefully, so I don't choke. I did choke one day when the Colts were still here. I scared Daddy and Papa to death—Uncle Jared saved me.

Michael's quiet, but Daddy keeps asking him questions; Michael politely answers them. When I finish eating I curl up against Pala, occasionally 'resting my eyes,' and listening to Michael and Daddy talk, but Daddy notices.

"Looks like I have a sleepy baby. What do you think Dean Bean? Is it time to go home for a snooze? You've been playing a long time in the water."

"No!" I don't want to leave Michael yet. "Mine."

"Dean."

"My father expects me home soon, Dean."

Right. He has to do whatever 'Lucifer' says.

"We'll play another day sweetheart. How about we have Michael over for dinner one night next week? Do you think that would be all right with your father?"

"I think that could be arranged, sir."

"C'mon then, we'll give you a ride home."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So as you can see, I'm making up my own Lucifer story. Crowley's the only King of Hell. 
> 
> A few readers have far more creative imaginations than I and came up with some great 'Lucifer-Michael' theories. I hope this wasn't a disappointment! 
> 
> Of course this is only a piece. Still more to find out.


	24. In Which Sam Bakes Dean a Cake and We Say Good-bye

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope I have Winnie-the-Pooh fans in the audience...
> 
> Thank-you to everyone who followed this story; the love and support really keeps a writer going. 
> 
> I was able to get a couple of suggestions in this chapter. Nixxie_way_Iero wanted a Dean covered in cake and since this chapter always had cake in it that fit perfect. Much to Michael's dismay, Dean got far more messy than originally intended. Sorry Nixxie, Michael may be looking for you...
> 
> Thatcrazyjellyfish wanted to see another 'spider hunt,' so hope you like it!

~One Year Later~

"We never will forget. Our hero of the wet. Our quick thinking, unsinking Pooh Bear. And Piglet who indeed, helped out a friend in need—truly they're the heroes of the day. So we say, hip, hip hooray for the Piglet and the Pooh!" I try singing. Daddy says I should keep trying to talk even if it's been slow going and it's really paid off. Not to mention, I fucking love Winnie-the-Pooh. Don't you dare make fun.

Uncle Dal and I are watching Pooh together. He's playing with me while Daddy works on baking a cake for me, which I'd normally help him with, but he said he wanted it to be a surprise for me. We're going to have a party where we get to have cake and presents, but he said it's not really a birthday even if we're calling it a birthday party. Figuring out my age is kinda complicated. I don't care too much, least not now—I'll leave Daddy in charge of that. He attempted to explain it to me, but it was too ridiculous. I trust him

Besides, he was really mad for a little while, even if he was trying to hide that from me—I could tell. He even got a spanking from Papa one day. To calm him down Papa said.

I can say more words, but it's a lot of fucking work to get to say any of them. Daddy worries about me. Papa does too, but it's in a different way. I don't let it bother me that I can't do things. I'm happy to have Daddy, Papa, or Dal do it for me; they're pretty good at understanding me. I figure if I don't let it bother me then someday they won't either.

I love playing with Uncle Dal; he always makes time to play with me when he gets home from school and he even does the Winnie-the-Pooh exercises with me, but we've been playing a long time and I think it's time for me to check on Daddy now. "Daddy?" I say from behind my soother. I've mastered Daddy and Papa. I can even say Dal.

"Daddy's busy, half-pint. Tigger's coming soon. Don't you want to see Tigger?"

I fucking love Tigger. It's a pretty hard decision, but I still want Daddy. Sometimes I just want him. Yah know? "Daddy," I say pointing to the kitchen, tears already starting.

"All right. C'mon then, sugar."

It's not that hard to get what I want.

I lead the way to the kitchen, my bare feet slap against the floor and alert Daddy I'm coming. "Is that my Dean Bean?"

I pull my soother out a quick second, "Daddy!" I pop my soother back in.

"He wanted you, there was no stopping him."

"That's okay, I'm just cleaning up." Daddy leans down and scoops me up with one arm. He sits me on the counter. "Pooh," I say.

"You were watching Pooh? Again?"

"Yeah." I take my soother out and leave it out this time; I hold onto it.

"Hey Dal, you mind letting Pala in for me? She's been waiting."

"Yeah, Sammy." Uncle Dal lets her in and she runs over to where I am at the counter barking at me to come down. I grab onto Daddy's shirt. Pala's big now. I may not have grown much, but she has. I'm not _scared_ of her, she's just big and pounces me sometimes and I get hurt. I don't like it.

"I know sweetheart," Daddy says plucking me off the counter and setting me on his hip. "She's excited to see you all the time."

"Here Pala. Sit," Uncle Dal calls. She listens and sits, but she's still looking at me, hoping I'll go play with her.

"No, Pala!" I say putting my hand out.

Daddy laughs. "Why don't you give her a treat?"

"No." I want to stay with Daddy.

"Is it just snuggle with Daddy time?"

"Yeah." I return my soother, curl into his chest. He was baking a long time. I love spending time with Uncle Dal, but I don't like Daddy gone for too long.

The doorbell rings. "I have a feeling I'm about to become chop-liver," Daddy says.

Huh? Why?

Michael saunters in with a scowl on his face, he's holding something wrapped. A present! Right. Daddy said I get presents today. I squirm to get down, forgetting Pala's waiting for me. She barks and pounces, like the Tigger does to Pooh, and I fall backward and land on my ass then on my back as she steps on my stomach.

I look at Daddy—that was a pretty big fall—he's eyeing me carefully, but he doesn't freak out. Maybe I'm okay?

Michael puts the present down. "You're fine. Get off him, Pala." She responds by licking my face and I giggle, Uncle Dally pulls her off me.

"C'mere you. Jensen was right, you sure can be a nuisance sometimes," he says in his southern drawl. Uncle Dal sounds the more country than anybody I sometimes think, maybe even more than Nana Colt? I'm not sure.

Uncle Dal takes her off me and tells her to go lie down, Michael—who told me I was fine—comes over to assess me for damages. "See, told you—you were fine."

He pulls me up. He's a bit taller now, but because I haven't grown a whole lot he seems so much bigger to me. I take my soother out. "Mine."

He rolls his eyes, shakes his head and picks me up. "When will you be able to say my name, huh? I expect you've been practicing?"

"Yeah." I can sorta say his name, but the last part's hard. "My-ch."

"Oh brother. I can't decide which is worse."

"You mind entertaining him for a bit Michael? I'm going to go get ready. I don't think he wants Daddy anymore anyway. Cas'll be home soon and we can go." Papa's taking us all out for dinner.

"Mine, Daddy," I say to show him Michael again as if maybe he forgot. Also, I don't want him to feel bad I've abandoned him, it's just, Michael's important.

Daddy laughs. "I know sweetheart."

"I don't mind, sir," Michael says.

In that case, I point to the living room. "Pooh?"

"I'm not watching that again."

"Pooh," I say again getting teary eyed. I've learned that please isn't the only thing that gets me just about anything I want. Please, doesn't work that well on Michael anyway. I think someone forgot to teach him manners. But tears work sometimes.

"Sorry, Michael. He didn't nap long today, he's a bit cranky. You want to come see Daddy, sweetheart?"

"No! Pooh! Mine!"

"Lordy Bee, Dean. Again, sorry Michael, I know you've watched it, like, a hundred times—"

"Three hundred and seventy-two."

"Right. But would you mind terribly?"

He huffs. "Yes, sir."

When we get to the living room, I see Uncle Dal wisely left it on pause. Michael sets me down. "You're turning into a real brat. Your daddies may give you everything you want, but I won't—mark my words Dean."

"Pooh," I demand with a smirk on my face. We'll see about that.

He un-pauses the movie and I sit down on the floor to show him the Tigger, as if he _hasn't_ already seen him three hundred and seventy-two times.

 _"Honey! Oh boy! Honey! That's what Tiggers like best!"_ Tigger says. I laugh and point.

"Is it really that funny?" Michael says.

 _"Mmmh… Mmmh… Oh say! YECH! Tiggers _don't_ like honey. That icky sticky stuff is only fit for heffalumps and woozles,"_ Tigger says.

I giggle my face off. This dude is hil-fucking-larious.

"Yeah, you're laughing now, but you don't like the next part."

He's referring to the part with the heffalumps and woozle's song. I find that shit creepy like I do dolls. I keep trying to make it through that part without getting scared, but I can't seem to manage it. I stubbornly stick out my lip, determined this time. But as soon as Pooh falls asleep by the window, I look over at him, just to make sure he's there.

He shakes his head. "I don't know why you continue to torture yourself, but if you must watch this, come."

He holds his arms open for me and I dive to them. It's not so scary when Michael protects me.

~SDC~

I consulted with more books, but in the end, I had to call the Moddler Adoption Agency and explain our situation minus the Crowley stuff. What I found was interesting and it seriously angered me. My baby's not the only one to be spiked with Modlenol (which we already knew) _and_ experience a significant lag in development. It's too coincidental for Cas and I; apparently it's been happening for years, since the 'invention' of Modlenol. They even have a 'solution' for it. If you can call it that.

When they first began getting calls from parents, they advised them to simply continue on counting the child's age chronologically, but this caused all kinds of complications when the child entered school. The ones who couldn't talk ended up held behind anyway. And no two cases were the same, they could never find out any rhyme or reason to how much they would 'age,' and or 'develop.' They couldn't even say: 'Little Jimmy will age every two years' and make sense of it. It made things extremely complicated for all the 'little Jimmies,' especially during their years of major development; like infancy, toddlerhood and of course the teenage years.

Eventually it happened to enough kids a special allowance was made and because there's little option, it's what we'll have to do for Dean. Cas and I will be able to consult with our family physician on his 'age apparent' (as it's called). The doctor can measure his telomere length, which can give in the least an idea of an amount of time he's aged. He'll use that plus our observations of his behavior in different areas to determine how 'old' he is. Based on all this, the doctor can sign off on him and Dean will receive new identification saying so. Dean will be considered that 'age.' We'll have to continue to do this every so often.

Age is a chronological thing, at least it usually is. Cas made the point (with good reason) that even if we 'declare' him a particular age, he'll still have lived a particular amount of years, so regardless of where he is developmentally, he'll still be the age in number of years he's lived.

'They' explained that yes, it's one way to look at it. But they've seen the age-thing cause all kinds of psychological problems for the kid when he's say, _lived_ twenty-one years, but can only enter grade eight because of where he's at in maturity and sometimes development; another thing they had to decipher. Once upon a time, they did move these kids along according to their chronological age. But often times the child ended up held back anyway, unable to keep up with learning objectives, not to mention they had rough time meshing with the other kids. It didn't make for fun school days.

Thus, we have little choice, but to base Dean's age largely on how he acts, and develops, combined with the doctor measuring his telomere length. Of course there are complications associated with this method. How do you really 'decide' if someone's grown-up? Plenty of forty-year-olds act as you might expect a twenty-year-old to act. In other words they're immature for their age. Even with the measuring of telomere length, it's not quite like counting rings on a tree (which tells you the exact age of the tree). It can only give an idea of how _much_ Dean has aged.

And sometimes, we may have to hold Dean back in school since he won't 'age' via this method, annually. We have the option to also have him evaluated by another kind of professional the agency had to create for this instance. She's a special type of child educator and she can tell us which grade Dean is suitable for—not just based on his intellect, but also his apparent maturity.

What if Dean feels old enough, but the doctor won't give his approval? How do we explain all to Dean why we're still holding him back? There are still many questions.

If Dean were any other kid, I'd homeschool him myself, so he wouldn't have to worry about all that bologna and I may do a little with him anyway to see if I can keep him on par, but it's really important to Cas and I that he have a 'regular' childhood this time. At least one that's as regular as can be; we do remember that our child is Dean Winchester. Nothing ends up being quite 'regular' with him, but gosh darn it we're going to try.

I was so mad. If this has occurred to the point they've worked out a system for it, why didn't they warn us? They knew Dean had been spiked. Their answer? They told us they didn't want to concern us of course, as despite there being enough instances in which a solution had to be devised, the percentage is still considered low. There was a chance it never would happen and they would have worried us for nothing.

Yeah, I still would have liked to know.

I was able to track down a few of the other parents whose kids were moddlers as the result of a spiking. No the agency hadn't given me the names and numbers, Cas and I found them through 'other means.'

Many of them were willing to chat with us (some weren't) but the ones we did talk to had a lot to say. We learned that none of their children aged the same and that of all of them Dean seems to be 'aging' the slowest.

Sometimes I wonder if Crowley injected Dean with a more 'specialized' version of Modlenol, just to mess with him. All I know is that we're going to find him and when we do he's not going to like Mama bear."

So today is going to be his first 'birthday.' Today he 'turns' two. It's not really a 'birthday' of course since it's not the day he was born. His birthday is January twenty-fourth. From here on out, Dean can count from there and consider that the number of years he's lived, including the years he lived before Modlenol. But his age is an altogether different story. But gosh darn it, I'm having him birthdays. He's getting a cake and he's getting presents—we're going to celebrate the occasion just like all the other kids would.

For this first one, I decided to keep it small. I had contemplated wrangling in the whole lot: Colts and Winchesters, but I thought it might be kind of nice to just do Michael and us. Dean would never let us do anything without Michael.

And besides, we just found out yesterday and I'm freaking excited we can finally say Dean is two. After waiting, worrying and wondering we've finally reached a landmark in Dean's growth. I couldn't wait and neither could Cas or Dal. His next 'birthday' can be big. Besides, hopefully by then he'll have made a whole bunch of friends we can invite. I do feel a little bad excluding our families, but they'll understand.

We've been taking him to the Moddler group, at least once sometimes twice a week, but he's not taken a shine to anyone. He plays with the kids, I suspect because he knows I want him to, but there's nobody he's all that sad to leave at the park. Except Michael. Michael, Dean would like to live with us; I'm sure.

When I'm all ready to go to dinner, I enter the living room with the clothes I want Dean to wear for his 'birthday' dinner tonight and I'm met with the cutest sight ever. Well I think it's cute. Michael looks supremely annoyed.

The older boy is sitting squished up against the arm of the couch, while Dean's sprawled out on his back, his chubby, bare feet leisurely pressing into Michael: One into Michael's thigh, one into his shoulder as Dean's head is turned sideways to stare at the T.V., one hand twirling in his hair; he sucks intermittently on his soother.

I know better than to laugh, much as I want to.

"Time to get dressed Dean Bean. Papa's already home and in the shower."

He lazily looks to me then promptly looks back to the T.V. "Dean," I say a little more sternly as I make my way over to him.

He takes his soother out. "Pooh Daddy," he reminds me pointing to the screen, he stuffs his soother back in. He's become obsessed with that movie. Some days I can hardly believe this is the same person that fought Vampires and Werewolves. Now all he seems to care about is, will Pooh get out of Rabbit's hole?

"Pooh is going bye-bye. We'll watch him again tomorrow." I press pause, knowing better than to shut it off. I'll just turn the T.V. off and he can start it from the same point tomorrow and then re-start it over again.

"Noooo…"

I sit my pouty baby up and crouch down. "C'mon. We're going to change your diaper and get you dressed and go for a fun dinner." He's scowling at me good just in case I didn't know I ruined his fun. I try not to let on he's breaking my heart as I pull off his pants and shirt. It's so much harder with your own kid. I maybe got a little heartbroken over Dal at times, but rarely did it phase me with any of the other kids. Dean has a way of making me feel like the meanest Daddy in the world and all I'm trying to do is change him.

It's even worse when I've got him in just his diaper and he's sucking his soother using his big green eyes to plead to Michael. And as much as Michael pretends otherwise, he isn't impervious to Dean's charm. "I don't know what you expect me to do about it. We're doing this all for you in the first place—you really want to watch that stupid show instead?" Michael says.

"Mine? Pooh? Pease?" He's got real tears now as he tries to convince Michael to put Pooh back on and doesn't even bother taking his soother out.

Okay. That's just funny and cute.

Hard as it is, I scoop the teary-eyed baby off the couch and onto the floor, so I can put a fresh diaper on him. Michael stares at him, torturing himself with pouty-crying-Dean-face 'till he can't stand it any longer. "I think I have something that will make him stop crying. May I give him my gift, Mr. Winchester?"

"Please."

While Michael pops out of the room I work on Dean's diaper and have to answer his sad little questions about Michael. "Mine, Daddy?"

"He'll be right back."

I rub some cream onto his tush. "Mine, gone, Daddy?"

"He's not gone. He's getting your present." I tape the new diaper firmly in place.

Michael appears, holding his gift for Dean, wrapped in blue paper. "Here's the deal. I give you this; you must stop crying _and_ pouting, _and_ be a good little boy for your daddy. You got it?"

Ah. Good old-fashioned bribery.

Dean sits up nodding huge, he takes his soother out. "Dean's?" he says pointing.

"Dean's," Michael confirms.

Now he's smiling. "Dean's Daddy."

"I know sweetheart. Thank-you Michael." We (Dean and I) don't even know what it is yet and we're both overjoyed.

Michael hands it to him.

This is the first wrapped present Dean's received. Sure Pala was in a wrapped box, but all he had to do was lift the lid. This one he has to struggle with, trying to gain purchase on a corner of paper so he can rip into it. The whole time he's looking at his present with awe and amazement, he looks up at me every once in a while and smiles hardly believing his luck. It's not like Dean doesn't get stuff, he's spoiled rotten, but there's something about getting a _wrapped_ present.

He squeals when he sees what it is. "Who's that Dean?"

" _Tig_ … ger," he pushes out. I'm so happy to hear him talking more like a two-year-old. It's taken him the whole year to get to where he is now in that department.

It's a classic style Tigger stuffy. Dean has every Winnie-the-Pooh stuffy there is of course. He often likes to line them up when it gets to the parade part of the movie and pretend he's in the parade too. But he doesn't have the classic style Tigger yet and points to him every time the 'old' looking stuffies appear at the beginning of the movie. I'd been meaning to get it for him, but I'm glad I never got around to it—it will be very special to Dean to 'get him' from Michael.

He squishes him to his chest. "What do you say, Dean Bean?"

He signs thank-you to Michael (that one's still pretty hard for him to say) gets up and runs over to hug Michael's leg. Michael indulges him by picking him up. "Are you going to behave yourself now?"

Dean nods. Michael doesn't even know how good he is with him. Dean usually ends up listening to Michael.

"Hey, what's going on in here? Why's Dean still naked? We should get going."

"Papa! Mine!" he says holding out Tigger.

"Were you guys giving him presents already?" That's Cas's annoyed voice. He knows 'mine' means Michael, therefore he knows 'mine' gave him Tigger and he can deduce it was a gift opened by the wrapping paper still on the floor.

"Sorry, Cassy. He was upset, we were bribing him," I admit.

Cas isn't pleased and he's practically glaring at Michael. "Get him dressed pleased. I'll tell Dal. We'll meet you three in the car."

"Of course, Cassy."

Cas leaves the room and Michael's staring after him. "He doesn't like me much."

"He's just a protective Papa. He'll behave during dinner," I say taking Dean from Michael, so I can get him dressed.

~SDC~

Daddy thinks I'm going to wear a monkey suit to dinner, but he's fucking wrong. It's not a full on monkey suit; no jacket, but it's got black uncomfortable pants and a white button up shirt complete with tie. Seriously? No fucking way Daddy.

"No!"

"Dean," Daddy warns.

"You said you would behave yourself," Michael says.

Yeah, when I didn't realize that 'behaving' myself meant wearing that shit. "Off," I say to tell him the deal's off and if he thinks he's taking fucking Tigger away from me, he can think again.

Daddy sighs. "We don't have time for this Dean and your papa's a bit grouchy. Will you please be a good boy and put on your clothes for Daddy?"

Why exactly are you trying to reason with a two-year-old Daddy? I thought you'd done this before. "No way."

Daddy has to bite his lip to keep from laughing at me; it's hard for him to remain stern when I'm so god damned cute.

"Sam? Sammy!"

Wait. That sounds like…

"Jensen? We're in here," Daddy says.

They enter from the back of the living room having come from the kitchen. "You two really oughta lock that door more often."

"Or try using the front door like normal… Jesus H, Jensen and Jared Colt! What in blazes?"

Uncle Jared and Jensen are covered head to toe in dark blood. Daddy grabs me up and shields me from them trying to cover my eyes. "We were in the neighborhood and were wondering if we could grab a shower and maybe a bed for the night? We're zonked," Uncle Jen says.

"What the hell happened to the two of you?" Daddy has to be pretty mad to swear (even 'hell') in front of 'little ears.'

"Oh this? Not sure what they were called, but no one's calling them anything anymore. Jared and I made sure 'a that." 

"We were just on our way out. We're having a birthday for Dean," Daddy explains.

"It's your birthday little bear? Sorry, we didn't bring anything."

That's okay! I want to tell him. I reach out for Uncle Jared to take me. "Yeah, I don't think so Dean Bean. You're not getting full of, whatever it is they're covered in."

"We wanna come, Sammy. We'll be quick in the shower, just give us a minute."

Daddy winces. Papa's already been waiting too long in the car, but there's no way he'd turn family down coming to something like my 'birthday.' He probably already felt bad not inviting them in the first place. "Here Michael, I have to go speak with Cas a moment." He passes me over to Michael.

"Hey! What's _that_ kid doing here?" Uncle Jen says having just noticed Michael. Michael smirks at him. "Give him here. We'll watch Dean while you go talk to Cas."

"You two are going up to have showers and get that stuff off you and then I'll think about letting you hold my baby. Understood?"

Uncle Jensen doesn't look okay with that; Uncle Jared has to drag him off. Daddy leaves to go talk to Papa and Uncle Dal in the car. And I'm alone with Michael. I don't like the look on his face.

"Right," he says as he puts me down and moves to gather the clothes Daddy was going to put me in. "You made me a promise and you're going to keep it, or else."

Or else, what? I'm not doing shit.

"Come. We're going to have you all dressed for when your daddy gets back."

No fucking way. I take off running out of the living room as fast as my little legs can carry me. There's no way I'm faster than him, but if I'm smart maybe I can evade him. He's hot behind me, so I dive sloppily behind the plant, slip through and go the other way. I squeal loud, 'cause this is kinda fun. "Dean! Get back here!"

"Hey, what's going on?" It's Uncle Jen. Looks like he came back. He's still full of blood goo, but I run to him anyway: squealing loud and jump into his arms.

"Mine," I say laughing and pointing to Michael.

"You imbecile!" Michael says to Uncle Jen. "Now he's full of that crap!"

"Jen! Where'd you go? I told you he'd be… oh shit. Sammy's gonna kill you." That's Uncle Jared.

Michael looks like he's going into angel hyperventilation. He doesn't like it when I get dirty, well not this kind of dirty anyway. I've got red shit smeared all down my belly and probably other places. What they hell were they hunting anyway?

"Give him to me. Give him to me now." Holy fuck. Michael's going to lose it.

"Like fuck I am."

They're both staring at each other, both trying to decide where they'll begin ripping the other apart. Uncle Jensen looks savage coated in blood, determination in his eyes. Michael's just raw fucking angel force.

"Whoa. What the hell is going on in here?" Papa says storming in, Daddy and Uncle Dal with him.

"I saved Dean from this little jerk. He was running from him."

Of course Papa would like to believe such a story, he turns piecing eyes on Michael. "I was trying to get him dressed and he ran away."

Daddy tugs on Papa's shirt and says something in his ear; Papa nods. Daddy approaches us. Papa quietly seethes. "You two. I thought I told you to get upstairs and shower?"

"I heard Dean scream—of course I'm checking it out."

"And I thank-you, now put the baby down and move."

Uncle Jensen does, but he's not happy about it. "Hi Daddy," I say to try and lighten the mood.

Daddy crouches down to my height. "Looks like I have a little blood baby monster now," he sighs and shakes his head. "Okay Dean, you win. Not only are nice restaurants not for babies, but they're not for Dean and this party's about you. What do you say to take-out burgers? Just this once?"

"Yeah, Daddy! Gurgers."

He laughs and runs a hand through my still clean hair.

"How about Cas and I go get them, while you clean him up?" Uncle Dal offers.

"Sounds good, just get lots of everything. Jen can eat like a horse."

Daddy looks at Papa and smiles. Papa's still quiet, but he nods and leaves with Uncle Dal. "Okay you, now you need a bath."

Michael clears his throat. "May I… M-may I please bathe him Mr. Winchester? I don't think I can… Or at least help? Please?" His voice sounds desperate.

Right. Michael's got some fucked up angel form of OCD. It's very much tied to me. "You can give him a bath Michael, but he's especially being a monkey tonight, I think I'd better at least come help." Make sure Michael doesn't scrub my skin off, Daddy means. There's no way I'd fuck with Michael when I know he's in this state.

Michael grabs my hand, not caring that it's full of blood; we make our way to the bath ahead of Daddy, Michael storming there, me tripping a little beside him trying to keep up. I do tell him to, "'low down, pease." He does marginally.

Daddy runs the bath as Michael takes my diaper off. Daddy's watching carefully with a smile on his face trying not to let on that he gets just a little worried when Michael gets like this. It really is just a _little_ worry. Daddy knows no one's more important to Michael than me.

Daddy stands back and lets Michael put me in the bath and begins washing me. I don't even try to play with toys—Daddy didn't put any in the water anyways—I just watch the water turn red. When he's washed me the first time, he turns to Daddy. "Sam… Sorry sir, I mean, Mr. Winchester, may we get some new water please?"

Daddy keeps his voice level. "Of course, Michael."

Michael repeats this process four times. I'm clean, I'm the squeakiest of cleans, but he never seems satisfied and I think he'd continue doing this all night if it weren't for Daddy stepping in. "Thank-you Michael. I've never seen Dean so clean. I think it's time to have his birthday dinner, don't you? I think Dean's starving. Aren't you Sugarbug?"

"He's hungry? Right," Michael says breaking out of his trance. "Right, we have to get him food. I'll feed him Mr. Winchester."

I think Michael's actually been traumatized, seeing blood on me like that. I'm not sure, but he's acting like it. He's never quite been like this. "Of course," Daddy says. Daddy lifts me out, with Michael's two eyes on me the whole time and Daddy quickly tapes me into a new diaper and hands me back to Michael. "You can take him to get dressed too, okay? He can wear whatever he wants, it's his birthday." Daddy presses my nose. "Daddy shouldn't have tried to put Dean in a monkey suit on his birthday, but you will wear one when we go to church someday, Sur."

Yeah, we'll see about that too, Daddy.

Michael takes me to get dressed with a firm hold on me. I pick my ACDC shirt—it was a bit big when Uncle Dally bought it, so it fits just right now. I hope they plan on buying me a new one when this doesn't fit.

Michael's quiet the whole time. He fingers the ugly-faced-dude on the necklace he gave me, before he slips the black shirt over my head. "Did I scare you, Duck?"

Not with fucking 'Duck' again. Michael says I follow him around like a duckling and while that may be true, it doesn't mean he can fucking call me that. There's no way I'm letting that become his nickname for me. But I don't address that now, I just answer his question indignantly. "No way."

"Good." He runs a hand through my hair and kisses my crown. Michael doesn't kiss me very often. "I have to say. Seeing blood on you, even if it wasn't yours, scared me."

He must be really torn up inside. Today is supposed to be my birthday, but Uncle Dal (who always reads me a lot of stories) says that Hobbits give gifts on their birthdays, so I think I should give something to Michael.

I decide to give him my most prized possession. I pull the soother out of my mouth and hold it out to him. He frowns. "What am I supposed to do with this?"

I don't fucking care. Tie it around your neck, put it under your pillow, whatever. Just take it asshole.

I'm sure he doesn't know I'm thinking all that, but he does know I'm insulted he won't take my gift. "Okay, okay. I get it. You treasure these idiotic things more than anything else. But what will you do without it?"

I point to my crib where I can spy another one. Michael shakes his head and retrieves it for me. I snatch it up happily and put it in my mouth. "If you've got a hundred of them, the magnitude of your gift is diminished."

But the one I gave him is my favorite one. I usually just hold the others. This one feels all wrong inside my mouth; it's not as comfortable as the one I just gave him. I shake my head, but he doesn't quite get it. In any case, he pockets it and picks me up. "Shall we then?"

I make Michael take me to get the Tigger he got me and then we join everyone in the kitchen. Uncle Jensen is all clean, but he still looks surly—he's not pleased to see that Michael has me, but he's just going to have to deal. Uncle Jared's clean too, but he's not upset with Michael, at least he doesn't seem to be. "You ready to eat burgers, Dean?" he says.

"Yeah."

Uncle Jared pulls the tray to my highchair away and Michael straps me in though Daddy and Papa never strap me in anymore. "I think our Dean is getting too big for that highchair, what do you say, Daddy?" Papa says as he puts a burger on my tray and starts cutting it up. Michael never leaves my side.

"Yeah, I suppose. Gosh, I want him to grow up so badly and worry about that everyday, but when he does I'm so sad. I wish he could be my baby boy forever," Daddy says from behind the kitchen island.

When Papa's done cutting, he leaves to console Daddy. Daddy's so silly. I'll always be his little boy.

Michael concerns himself with feeding me. I can feed myself, even Papa knows this, which is why he didn’t stay to help me, but Michael needs to feed me right now. He needs to take care of me. I take my soother out and set it on the try and I let him feed me, even playing it up so he'll feel better. I point to what I want and open my mouth so he'll feed me like a little bird. Tigger sits on the table in front of me and beside his own burger (I insisted on it).

Uncle Dal laughs at me and brings me a sippy cup of juice. "You enjoying that burger, half-pint?"

"Yeah," I say. Burgers are my favorite.

Daddy and Papa join the five of us. "That's strange. That's not his soother, that's one of his bedtime soothers. Where'd his other one go? Michael have you seen it? He's going to freak if we don't find it; I'm surprised you got him to accept that one."

Oh crap. Daddy will go on a house-wide manhunt for that soother if I don’t stop him. "No, Daddy. Dean's," I tell him in between bites.

"That's your new favorite soother?"

"Yeah."

He's not convinced. "Right. My stubborn little boy doesn't change his spots so easily. What's going on, Mister?"

Michael looks embarrassed as hell when he says: "He gave it to me."

Everyone's quiet around the table—only Daddy, Papa and Uncle Dal really know what that means. Uncle Jared looks like he might, in the least, be able to devise what that means, Uncle Jensen just continues eating burgers. I'm glad for that. I wish everyone else would just eat and mind their own fucking business.

Daddy breaks the silence and gives me a wry look. "Okay, Dean Bean, but I'm not going to get it when you can't sleep tonight."

He's all talk. He would go get it if I cried for it, but I won't.

"I can give it back."

"No, Michael," Uncle Dal says, which surprises me. "It's kinda lose-lose. If you give it back he'll freak, when he doesn't have it tonight, he _may_ freak. We should just take our chances."

Good call Uncle Dal. See? I've got everyone right where I want them.

"I think a certain someone has too many minions doing his bidding these days," Papa points out.

Quiet Papa! None of said minions seemed to have figured that out yet, I mean I think they're getting suspicious, but no one's done anything about it yet. I scowl at him. Everyone laughs.

"It's not our fault," Uncle Dal says. "He was made so gosh darned cute. None of us can help it."

Thankfully that's where it's left for now and I'm glad. I've got a great gig going.

After burgers comes the cake. I've been waiting and waiting to see this thing. They all sing 'happy birthday' and the cake is in the shape of a two. It looks fucking great! Daddy did a good job, I tell him so. "You like your cake, baby boy?"

"Yeah Daddy." I sign thank-you and blow out the candles, or I try, Michael has to help me.

Daddy has the forethought to take off my shirt when he gives me the piece of cake with blue icing. Thank fuck it's not red icing. Could you imagine? I think Michael would have the equivalent of an angel heart attack. I look between Daddy and Michael before I go at it though. I just got all cleaned, won't Michael freak out when I get all full of cake? 'Cause that's what'll happen if they let me eat it on my own. Daddy looks at Michael and Michael nods. He's calmed down now. He'll only get a 'regular' amount annoyed when I'm full of cake. The kind where he wrinkles his nose, feels uncomfortable and can't wait to wipe me off, but not crazy angel-OCD level.

"Dig in pumpkin."

Daddy gives me a big piece. He's crazy. I'll never go to bed after this. I haven't had much sugar since I've been with my daddies. I mean, Daddy did make the cake, so I'm sure he used his granola-hippy sugar versions, but sugar is sugar. I'm going to be wild. Pala wants cake too, so she wisely sits under my chair, knowing some is bound to fall.

But as soon as I touch the cake, I notice how nice and squishy it feels. I spend a lot of time playing in it as Daddy gets pictures and a video of me. I hold some up to Michael, "Mine?" Maybe he'd like to share my piece.

"After you've had your grubby little hands in it? Gross. No thanks."

Fine. I'll just eat it myself. I finally begin stuffing moist chunks in my mouth. It's fucking delicious chocolate. It's so fucking good—Daddy's a good baker. I thank him again. He laughs. "I'm glad you're enjoying that, sweetheart, Daddy loves you."

I smile and feel warm. Every time Daddy tells me he loves me (which is a lot) I feel a buzz of excitement.

Cake has managed to crumble all down my stomach and of course is all over my face. I'm so full of blue icing, I must look like a fucking Smurf. Michael's a bit beside himself, just itching to clean me up. I don't think he planned on me getting this icky.

I'm not sure how much cake even got in my mouth, but I know I've even got some in my hair and possibly up my nose. I don't care though and that was so fucking awesome, I think I need another slice. I look at Daddy. "Mo', Daddy. Pease?"

Papa dives in before Daddy can fall victim to my charm. "I don't think so, Kiddo." His voice is pretty firm and I begin to pout, tears already in my eyes. I look to Daddy: _Tell Papa I need another piece_.

Daddy definitely wants to give me another piece. I can just hear his Colt-like reasoning: It's his birthday, let him do as he pleases. But we aren't a Colt house. We're a Winchester house.

"Time to get cleaned up, noodle. We can have another piece tomorrow."

Michael already has a warm cloth and is taking my tray away. "Thank God that's over. You don't stay clean. I think I should start calling you Pig-pen."

But I'm still looking at Daddy hoping he'll try to convince Papa. "I thought Dean was excited to open his presents, huh?" Daddy says.

"Dean's?" I say.

"Yep. Dean's presents."

"'Kay, Daddy!"

Michael wipes me down good and Papa puts my shirt back on. Papa lifts me out when I'm unstrapped and I curl into him. I haven't gotten the chance to snuggle Papa today yet. "Happy Birthday, Angel," he says with a kiss to my forehead.

Uncle Dal got me several more cool rock band t-shirts. Uncle Jared and Jensen didn't know we were having a birthday for me, but Uncle Jensen quickly ran out to Baby and fashioned a kind of necklace using a leather throng and a really large vampire tooth. Neither Daddy or Papa looked to too happy about it, but they said I could keep it so long as it stayed hung somewhere that wasn't around my neck. Michael looks like he's planning my uncle's evisceration. I think it's fuck-awesome. This is so cool.

For some reason I'm surprised when my daddies tell me they have a gift for me. They've already given me so much: Food, a home, and so much love. I don't need anything else from them. "For the 'fun' part of your gift, we're having the playground extended. Also, some of the more 'baby' type things will be removed and replaced with bigger kid stuff, but this other gift here, is just something sentimental Papa and I wanted you to have."

They pass me the flat, wrapped gift, when I open it, I squeal excited, even though I don't know what the fuck it is. It's something framed and important looking.

Daddy pulls the frame and me onto his lap. "This is the adoption certificate that says your ours. It's a new version though, we had re-made to reflect your new name. See? That's your full name right there: Dean Daniel Jonathan Winchester."

Jonathan. John. Like my dad. I smile up at both of them—it's great. I fucking love it.

~SDC~

It's sometime after cake and I'm a bit left to my own devices. Sure the adults are keeping an eye on me—there's enough of'em, but they're all super tired. Michael's the only one really paying attention to me, but even he looks like he's fading. Without too much grace, I'm sure he doesn't last as long as angels are supposed to and apparently no one's a match for a baby on sugar. So while he's watching me, it's not as sharply as usual.

So I see it and no one else does. The large brown thing, skitters across the room and heads straight for the table of adults. A spider. Fuck. I've got to do something, but how without anyone seeing? I make my way over to the broom closet where my 'weapon' for this sort of thing is. The door is open a crack, so I'm able to pull it the rest of the way open without much trouble. But I'm noticed my absence. "Hmmm… the sound of a quiet baby isn't a good sound. What are you up to Dean Daniel?" Daddy says.

He sees me at the door and gets up. "Dat," I say pointing at my broom weapon.

"You want to hunt the spiders? Good idea. Hopefully that will tire you out." Score! He hands me my broom. I've often thought Daddy just thinks I'm pretending when I 'hunt' spiders, now I know I'm right, they won't suspect a thing. I'll have the beast smashed before they even know she's around and I'll put a flowerpot over its dead carcass so each parent will just think it's the other that killed it.

Michael, however, is suspicious. He gets up and makes his way over to me when Daddy heads back to the table. "What are you up to, Dean?"

He won't buy my innocence. I have to show him. I crouch down on my belly and point to the little creature that's going to cause a big fuss if she's discovered by the adults. Turns out they're _all_ a bunch of spider wimps. Uncle Jared and Uncle Jensen will kill spiders if they have to, they're not quite like Daddy, Papa and yes, Uncle Dal; but they're still super grossed out by them.

Somehow, Michael has never been around to witness the chaos caused by such a small arachnid. "That's what you're being so secretive about? It's just a spider," he says really fucking loud.

I thought angels were supposed to be smart? I shake my head; it's over.

"What? Spider?" Papa says.

"Spider! Michael! Grab the baby! Grab the baby!" Daddy screams.

Michael, clearly shocked runs on instinct and grabs me up and runs me far away from the spider. All hell breaks loose after that.

Papa shields me, in front of Michael, from the spider and Daddy too. Uncle Dal jumps over the counter like he's trying to evade the fucking T-1000 and grabs out a flowerpot. He knows the drill in this house by now.

"Jesus! I frggin' hate those things!" Uncle Jensen yells. "Where is it, stud?"

I roll my eyes and hand him my weapon and point to where the spider is. Or at least it was. With all the commotion, she's probably moved. "Here, Dal!" Uncle Jared shouts and holds his hands out like he's going to catch a football, ready for the flowerpot. Uncle Dal throws it, Uncle Jared catches it flawlessly.

Uncle Jensen puts on a brave face, but it's clear he's fucking nervous, like the spider will jump out at him at any second, maybe tear out his eyes? I don't know what he thinks it's going to do to him. Uncle Jared and Jensen move like a synchronized team. They've only been hunting a year, but they've learned from the best (Bobby) and they're twins. They've come a long way in a short time.

But they can't seem to best a little fucking spider. Morons, all of them. They should let the pro at it. I squirm in Michael's arms. "Hold fucking still, Dean," he warns in my ear. "I don't know what the fuck is going on, but you're not going anywhere."

Asshole.

"There! It's there, Jen!" Uncle Jared shouts.

Uncle Jensen looks ridiculous swinging my toy broom at the little spider. It's like he's forgotten how to aim and he's swinging at air. The spider effortlessly evades him and heads toward where Michael, Daddy Papa and I are. Papa yanks me out of Michael's arms (probably the only person Michael would relinquish me to at the moment), and is most likely preparing to flee the state and far away from that fucking spider. Daddy starts running too and when he gets far enough away and to my fucking surprise he yells, "there's no time Cas. Dean-ball! Quick!"

Papa, thinking he's genius, tosses me up in the air, limited by the ceiling, but throws me as far as he can and Daddy catches me like a football. I laugh and squeal (I love Deanball), but when I look back to Michael I can see that he's not impressed.

He's definitely figured out what's going on and while Daddy and Papa make a new save-the-Dean-protection-barricade, he just waits for the spider. He watches it with laser focus and when it's close enough, he smashes his hand down onto it, hard. So hard, the tiles of the stone floor underneath his hand smash and crumble.

The room is left in a deadly silence.

Casually, he makes his way over to the sink and wipes the spider remains into the garburator making sure to blend her up in there. He washes his hands off. "You are all morons."

He holds his arms out to me. "To me Dean." And I'm smart enough to go with him. Daddy's trying not to laugh as he passes me off. I hear them all start laughing as Michael storms off with me. "I swear, Dean. Those humans are so foolish sometimes, I've polished all the cutlery in my father's house several times over just thinking about what stupid things could be happening to you. If I didn't know how much you loved them and they loved you…"

That means 'I love you,' from Michael, in case you can't read Michael. He's very hard to read; even I have trouble. I decide he needs to calm down and I know just the thing. "Pooh?" I say from behind my soother.

He doesn't even argue. "Okay."

I make sure to squish my feet on him how he likes and I fall asleep listening to Pooh talk to Christopher Robin.

~SDC~

We're all staring at the hole Michael left in our floor. "That's no fucking kid. We haven't found anything on him yet, but I swear Cas, we're going to and when we do, we're going to find whatever thing we need and kill that supernatural creature."

I know Jensen's words are out of concern for my son and I'm extremely appreciative, but I have to shake my head. "No. I mean, yes, I want you to find out what you can about his family, but you aren't going to kill Michael. No one is going to lay a finger on Michael."

"How can you say that Cas? He's not a he, but an 'It.' An 'It' that's close to your son. He's dangerous."

I gesture to the floor. "I don't doubt it. But for the same reasons he's dangerous, we need him."

"How can you know that?" Jensen argues. "You don't know that. Jared and I fight creatures, evil creatures. We know one when we see one—Michael needs to be put down."

I might not like Michael, but it's out of jealousy. My own special brand of Castiel Winchester jealousy that comes from Dean being _my_ son and no one else's (well, except Sam's of course). But I know love when I see it. Michael loves my son and would die for him. I can feel the danger that constantly swirls around Dean. We've only seen small glimpses of it and I know they'll be more. Jensen and Jared have already told us they can't even find a trace of Crowley—like he's just vanished off the map. I don't trust Crowley's little disappearing act nor does anyone else. We need all hands on deck.

If Michael can do this (the floor), it's as Sam and I have suspected: He's got the means to look after our son, means we don't; not with all the bodyguards in the world.

Jared and Jensen are our 'field soldiers,' Michael is our own personal in home one. "You'll have to go through me first," I say.

"What? But Cas, you hate him."

"Leave it, Jen," Sam tells him.

"This is horseshit." He knocks over a chair and storms out.

"He'll be fine. I'll go calm him down," his twin says running after him.

I look to my husband and Dal. "How about you two?" They've had a lot of experience with Dean and Michael. Probably more than me. I'm making my decisions based on gut instinct.

"Team, Michael," is all the often taciturn Dallas says.

I look at my husband. "Sometimes Michael scares me, but I know he'll never harm Dean intentionally. He's dangerous, you're right, but there's no one better to protect our son. He's better than even us, Cas."

"All right then." I kiss my husband, grab Tigger and I walk out to face Michael on the couch with my son. It looks like they were watching a movie, but the movie's long ended. He's watching Dean breathe as he sleeps and is holding onto one of his little feet. He looks sad.

"I apologize for what happened Michael. Can you forgive us?"

He looks shocked as hell that I would apologize to him, but he's too mad not to tell me off. "You humans are reckless fools."

So definitely not a human then.

"What are you Michael?"

He stares me directly in the eyes for what seems like an eternity, then he looks at Dean and all of his features soften, he sighs resigned to his fate. "All you need to know is, I'm his. I belong to Dean," he says not looking at me, just at Dean. I get it. I'm meaningless to him, or rather, I only hold meaning because I hold meaning with Dean.

He knows I'll need more than that, but that's enough for tonight. I've brought a peace offering with me. "Here, how about you lay him down for us, then I'll have a driver take you home?" I hold out the Tigger he gave to Dean. I'm also telling him I trust him and I'm sorry for being a dick earlier. That was all a 'dick-maneuver' with my annoyance over them giving Dean a gift early. I really was only getting mad because it was Michael giving the gift.

"Thank-you, Castiel." When he says that he's not a little boy, he's whatever thing he is and he's speaking to me as such.

"And I'm sure you know that if I'm wrong and you even think of harming my son, I'll find a way to kill you."

"If Dean is ever harmed by me, I'll let you Mr. Winchester."

~SDC~

"Nothing ever goes how we think it will with Dean, huh Cassy?"

My husband is trying hard to soothe my tense body. We're lying, snuggled in the darkness of our bedroom together. "It doesn't Baby, but I wouldn’t have it any other way. And besides, it was all worth it to see you finally give in and play Deanball," I laugh.

"I wasn't _playing_ Deanball—that was life or death. That's the only acceptable reason to throw our child."

"Sure, Baby."

Jared was able to calm Jensen down and he apologized. Even asked me if I wanted to punish him since he'd behaved horribly in my home. I told him no. I understand his worry for Dean and I'm grateful to have someone so passionate on my son's side. I wouldn't dream of punishing him for that. I understand why his emotions got out of hand. I did ask him to exercise at least a little control next time. I have a feeling this is going to be a common argument in our home.

"So, now that everything's calm—at least for tonight—how about the daddies have some playtime? You want to dip into my honey pot, sugar?"

Fuck. Do I ever.

I lean in to kiss him. His mouth is hot and my dick, that's been hard since I watched him undress, is keening to be touched by him. I devour his neck and yank at his hair, fuck, fuck, fuck; I need him, but it's a different kind of need tonight.

"Baby? Will you, be in me tonight?" Sam prefers my cock in his ass, I know this, but I ask once in awhile, sometimes I just need to be consumed by him.

"Of course my love."

Sam's body is huge. He's like a giant stallion, complete with long flowing mane. Sometimes I wonder just how I'm able to dominate such a creature, yet somehow I do. But right now, he can have me; I'm all his. He suddenly turns into 'not-Sam,' and he gives me exactly what he knows I'm looking for.

"You want me to fuck your tight ass, lover? I'm going to make you feel good."

"Yeah… Please…"

He lays me out on my back and I can just see his eyes by the light coming in the window, they're full of playful desire. He begins straight at my cock and swallows it up in his large mouth while pushing my thighs back so they touch my chest. Too soon, he pops his mouth off, but he lifts my balls out of the way, tugging them gently and begins licking my hole and shoving his tongue up there and driving me crazy.

He circles a finger at my wet pucker and sucks at my dick again, the long finger slowly slips inside and he leaves it there a moment while he swirls his tongue around the head of my cock. "Dammit, Sammy—move."

He chuckles. It's pretty rare I call him Sammy. I leave that for his siblings. "Okay, Cassy." He pumps the finger in and out slow and it burns deliciously while he continues to suck my cock and saliva dribbles down, continuously wetting my hole.

When he decides he wants to add more fingers, he gets the lube from our nightstand and he torturously opens me 'till I threaten him, "if you don't stick your cock in me soon Samuel, I'm going to spank you."

He laughs some more. "Impatient I see. And I fail to see how that's a threat? I just want to make sure I don't hurt you Cassy."

I guess I can let it go then, he's got a stallion-sized cock to go with his stallion-sized body. He pushes my legs back hard, splitting me wide open as he rams his cock into me, just how I like it. "Jesus Sam. Fuck. Fuck me Baby."

He's harder, knowing I don't care how much it will hurt tomorrow; I _want_ to feel him tomorrow.

"I'm going to… fuck Sam… I'm going to cum…"

"Let's cum, Cassy."

We do and it's combustible, I swear the bed sheets are going to light on fire. He falls on top of me, his cock still inside me; both of us panting; but I'm not finished with him yet. "That was fucking the best Baby, but now it's my turn," I say flipping him over and taking my place on top of him. Sam did that for me and like everything Sam does, he did it fucking amazingly, but he prefers it when I consume him. His eyes light up excited and I begin with little bites to his neck.

But we hear a little someone on the monitor. "Papa," he sniffles. "Papa. Pease."

We both know he doesn't call for Papa in the night, he calls for Daddy. I don't even get dressed, and you'll think this is fucking gross by I don't even wipe the cum off my dick. What if something's happened to him? I need to get there as soon as possible.

I run naked to his nursery where he's standing up in his crib, one hand holds the railing, Tigger's tail tight in his other fist, hair all mussed from sleep and soother in his mouth. He looks like he still might be a bit asleep. He starts crying when he 'sees' me. "Aww, it's okay, Kiddo," I say plucking him out and pressing him to my bare chest. I try not to laugh when I see he's wearing dinosaur pajamas. How did those get in here? They must be leftover from before. I can't wait to tell Dean Michael did it and watch Dean tell him off for it.

"Did you have a bad dream?"

"Yeah," he says through tears.

I'm sure Sam can hear us on the monitor and he'll know I'm taking care of him. "Well, you're with Papa now. I'll protect you."

I bounce him 'till he stops crying and as expected I eventually get, "Daddy?"

"We're going to see him right now. Let's go."

Sam's all cleaned up and in pajamas when we get back, probably expecting I'd be bringing Dean with me. He's got his arms open for his cub. Dean clings to him like one too.

I go get myself cleaned up and thrown on a pair of pajama pants too. When I get back, Dean is curled up fast asleep again with Sam. "I'm sorry, Baby. I won't get to—"

"Don't be silly Cas. Not that I wouldn't have loved for you to fuck me, but this is every bit as good in a different way."

Yeah. It certainly is. I climb into bed with my family—and Tigger, who Dean still has clutched tightly by the tail—and even though Dean's already asleep Sam and I hum to him the song that makes me think of my grandmother.

_"Somewhere over the rainbow, skies are blue. And the dreams that you dare to dream really do come true."_

THE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The sequel to this story: Growing Up Winchester is now up! Subscribe to the Winchesters Series to get regular updates.


	25. TIME STAMP: DEAN GOES SOULING

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean makes the cutest Tigger around!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a little time stamp you can thank SankatyLight for. She said: "Will Dean do Halloween?" and planted the idea that Tigger would be an adorable costume and it wouldn't leave my head; so here you go!
> 
> P.S. I know some churches are against Halloween parties, but some are not. Dean's church is all for an innocent, family fun style Halloween party!
> 
> Chapter 2 for Growing Up Winchester will hopefully be done by tomorrow. Enjoy this in the mean time.

The Halloween where Dean is two.

"You can't bring Tigger and be Tigger, it doesn't make any sense."

I fucking glare at Michael. He's so fucking bossy. I can do what I want—my daddies have no problems with me bringing Tigger. He's my best friend and we do everything together. 

"You're not going to budge are you?" Michael sighs heavily. "What if you lose him? You'll be really upset."

That's the real reason he's worried. He knows that ever since he brought me Tigger for my first birthday party not so long ago, we're stuck like glue. Sometimes, I think Michael's fucking jealous of him. Of course he is. Tigger is pretty fucking rad. Uncle Dal helps me build forts then Tigger and I hang out inside with books and a flashlight, sometimes all day.

I can't read, but we look at the pictures together. Daddy brings me snacks and sometimes I fall asleep in there, but no one is small enough to fit inside, just Tigger and me.

"How far away are you two?" Daddy pops his head in to ask.

"I was just about to help him into his Tigger costume, sir."

Daddy's sewing skills haven't improved so much. He tried hard to sew me a Tigger costume and failed miserably. In the end he asked Gramma Winchester who was tickled fucking pink to make it for me. Gramma and Grampa Winchester have a condo here now (where we live) and they come and stay from time to time. She flew out just to make me the costume, even though Daddy insisted he could take the measurements and send them so as not to trouble her quite so much, but she wouldn't have it.

She did a really good job. It's a fluffy replica of my Tigger and it zips up all around my body with only a hole for the face; the big upper jaw with snout, sits at my forehead level. The 'paws' only slip over my hands with my fingers sticking out, so I can hold shit, like Michael's hand. It's got a kick ass tail. Gramma Winchester's the best.

"Second thought, let me put a new diaper on him real quick."

I don't need a new diaper; I just wanna get out to the trick-or-treat part of tonight. Apparently I get to go collect candy. "No, Daddy."

"You don't need a new diaper, baby boy?"

"No."

"Okay. If you're sure. Guess he's pretty excited to get going," he says to Michael.

"If you'll forgive me saying so, I'd like to mention one more time that I think this event is highly dangerous. Dean's the type to have a soul seeking vengeance after him and that is, after all, what happens on all hallow's eve."

"Michael," Daddy warns. He's worried he'll scare me. "And I thought that was the point of dressing up, to hide from souls?"

Michael's not sorry for mentioning it. When he's worried about me, he doesn't care. "I'd feel better if Dean stayed in on a night like tonight. I can buy him all the candy he wants."

"We'll be at the church most of the time."

"But after that you insist on taking him souling." Michael helpfully explained to us that a very long time ago, kids used to go around, door to door on all Hallow's eve collecting soul cakes in exchange for praying for the soul's of the dead. They called it souling. Souling was apparently replaced with trick-or-treating for cheap sugary candy at some point.

"They don't call it souling anymore. We're taking him trick-or-treating."

Michael just stares at Daddy—he doesn't see the difference. Daddy kneels down and begins stuffing me into my Tigger costume, since Michael's no longer going to participate.

"And what about this 'bobbing for apples' thing? Preposterous! It sounds like a drowning hazard to me. What if he falls in?" Michael's been watching too much Winnie-the-Pooh with me—Tigger says that: Preposterous.

"I'm sure you'll save him in time. You're still coming, aren't you?"

"Of course I'm coming. I'm not likely to leave Dean in the hands of a couple of humans on a night like tonight. Um, no offense Mr. Winchester, sir."

Daddy can't help smiling at Michael. "None taken, honey."

Michael is overreacting as usual; Daddy's used to him.

When I'm all dressed, I grab my Tigger. So there, Michael, he's coming too. "Fine, but when you drop him and lose him, I'm not going out looking for him."

That's fine. Papa will.

Daddy lifts me up and puts me on his hip. "Tig- _ger_ Daddy."

"Dean's Tigger. You're a pretty ferocious Tigger. Let's go show Papa and Gramma. Grampa's here too."

We head downstairs with Michael sullenly following behind us.

"There he is! Hey Dollface," Gramma says holding her arms out for me. I dive for her.

"Hi. Gramma."

"Well look at you. Isn't he the sweetest thing, Clyde?"

"I say, well I say he's the finest looking—what's the name again?"

"It's Tigger, Clyde."

"That's right. He's the finest looking Tigger I ever saw."

I don't think Grampa's seen any Tiggers before. "Will you take him Castiel? I want to get a few pictures," Gramma says.

I have to endure a photo-shoot, getting pictures with everyone, even Michael who is clearly pissed off the entire time. He wants to end all my fun.

Uncle Dal comes racing in just before we're about to leave. "Whew! Thought I wasn't going to make it. Sorry Half-pint. I had to stay late at school. Sweet Lord! What a handsome Tigger." He takes my Tigger stuffy and makes him talk. "Hey! Look, look, look! What a strange looking creature. Look at those beady little eyes and that preposterous chin, and those ricky-diculous, striped pajamas." Everyone knows all the words to the Winnie-the-Pooh because I've made them watch it over and over.

"Looks like another Tigger to me," Papa says.

"Oh, no it's not! I'm the only Tigger!" Uncle Dal says with my Tigger stuffy. "Watch me scare the stripes off of this imposter. Grrr."

I giggle as he pretends to scare me with Tigger.

"All right. Let's get out to the car," Papa says. "The driver is around front." Papa takes me from Gramma.

"You have fun Doll and tell Gramma all about it tomorrow."

"Of course he will, Claire. Why don't you drop him by tomorrow Samuel? We can take him for the day. We're flying back day after."

"What do you think, Dean? You want to hang out at Gramma and Grampa's house tomorrow?" Daddy says.

"Pooh?" I say. I'm not going if I can't watch Pooh.

"Why I believe your grandmother bought you a copy just for our place. You can show me who this Tigger character is Dean," Grampa says. Grampa's going to love Tigger.

I turn to Daddy. "Okay, Daddy."

"Okay, sir," Daddy says to Grampa. "I'll bring him around ten."

Gramma gives me lots of kisses and the two of them leave. We head out to the car where Papa straps me into the car seat, which takes some adjusting with my costume on. Michael sits beside me. "If no one's going to listen to reason, you're going to stay close to me for however long this idiocy lasts. Do you understand me?"

"Yeah, Mama," I smirk. Well. If he's going to act like a fucking hover Mother.

Even he smiles at that one. "You'll thank me when a soul wants its revenge on you, and I save your ungrateful ass," he says quiet so Daddy doesn't hear.

The church is busy. I've only been for a few events so far. Thankfully Daddy, Papa and Uncle Dal have been switching off staying home with me on church days thus far, church sounds boring for little boys. Daddy still thinks I'm too full of beans to bring, 'cause he doesn't think I'll sit nice yet. But from the way Papa's talking, I have a feeling I'll be going soon. Apparently, I'm to join some sort of Sunday school class. Daddy's just waiting for me to be able to talk better.

There are lots of kids in costumes who are little like me, holding their parent's hand and having trouble the climbing steps to the church. I still have to take the steps one at a time and I hold my daddy's hand, but I can do it.

The first kid we see, is fucking Harlow. She's dressed as a princess, no surprise there. She's quite a bit older than me now; she's almost six. "Hi, Dean," her mama, Charlie, says.

"Hello," I say. She laughs.

"He's the cutest thing, Sam. How do you stand him?"

"Believe me, it's not easy."

That's the best part about being little. I'm so fucking cute, I get pretty much whatever I want. Papa's always trying to be stern, but even he has a hard time. "C'mon Dean!" Harlow says. "Mommy says we can have cider like the big kids. How about it?"

Michael steps forward aggressively and grabs my hand. Daddy laughs. "Why don't you take him with Harlow Michael? We'll join you in a minute."

Michael doesn't even respond and his hand is pretty fucking tight on my hand. "It's this way!" she says, way too fucking excited about this whole cider thing. We arrive at this little station where a pretty lady is handing out cider. Wow. I think I'm love. She's got long pretty brown hair and she smiles real nicely. "Dat," I say to Harlow.

"That's Miss Caulfield. She's one of the Sunday school teachers. You wanna meet her?"

"Yeah." I tug Michael along; I've got Tigger tucked under my arm, a soother in my mouth. I'm ready. She'll think I'm the cutest thing alive.

"Miss Caulfield! Miss Caulfield!"

"Well hello Miss Harlow," she says. Her voice is just as pretty as she is.

"This is my friend Dean. He wants to meet you."

"He does? Hello Mr. Dean, or should I say, Tigger?"

She knows who fucking Tigger is. I'm going to marry this woman. I hold out my Tigger so they can meet. "And you've brought your friend Tigger with you. You're Tigger and you're with Tigger. How clever Dean!"

I sneer at Michael. See? I knew it was a good idea. At least she can see that. Michael rolls his eyes. "And is this your big brother Mr. Dean?" she asks.

"Michael," Michael says holding out his hand. She smiles at him and holds out her hand, he takes it and kisses it. Asshole. "I'm a friend of Dean's."

"Well aren't you the sweetest, Michael? Can I get you three some cider?"

"None for me, ma'am," Michael says. "But I'll take a cup for Dean. It looks hot, I wouldn't want him to burn himself."

She sets us up with cider and I wave to her as we leave making sure to blow her a kiss. Daddy taught me about blowing kisses; I'm glad I've found multiple uses. She giggles. I think she likes me.

Michael makes me sit down. "If you want to drink hot cider, you can sit down. Last thing we need is for you to dump it all over yourself. You are quite clumsy."

"You aren't very nice to him, Michael," Harlow says thinking she's coming to my defense.

"Nobody asked you, little girl." Michael has nothing against Harlow, but I'm sure he's just pissed at her for suggesting we go get hot cider, yet another thing he has to worry about.

I point to my cup of cider, now that I'm sitting like he said to, I want to try some. "I have to cool it off for you, or you'll burn your tongue and I have no wish to listen to you whining all night."

He blows and blows and blows on it, then takes a little sip to see if it's all right for me. When he determines it is he says, "I'm going to help you drink this. Trust me when I say heaven won't be able to help us if you spill this all over your costume. This is a kid's event. I cannot believe they don't have proper glassware."

The cider is in a Styrofoam cup. One that's too big for Dean's to drink out of. I let him help me. It's good. It's really good. I think I can distinctly taste sugar. I'd better fucking drink this before Daddy gets wind.

I'm on my third sip when Papa comes over. "Found yourself some cider, did you Kiddo?"

"Yeah, Papa," I smile at him. "Good."

He laughs. "Maybe Daddy has a better cup for you. I'll be right back."

Crap.

Daddy comes over with Papa, followed by Harlow's Mama, and Daddy starts rifling through my diaper bag. "Aha! Here we go. Can I put some in here for you baby boy? It will be easier for you and you won't spill on your Tigger costume."

I nod surprised. I thought Daddy would take away the sugary cider for sure. He opens the lid to the sippy cup and he takes a little sip before he pours some in. "Whoa, sugar. No wonder he likes it so much."

He doesn't even fill it halfway, I hope he doesn't think I didn't notice. I take my sippy cup from him, but I point to the cup with the remainder of the cider in it. "That's plenty of apple flavored sugar water for my Dean Bean, Sur. Yuck! Cas taste this." He holds it out to Papa, Papa takes a sip, his face puckers like he just sucked a lemon.

"Wow. That is sweet. Sorry, Kiddo. I'm with Daddy on this."

With two of them against me, I don't stand a chance, so I slowly sip my 'apple flavored sugar water' and enjoy what I've been given. Least he didn’t take the whole thing away.

"Dal?" I say. 'Cause where did Uncle Dal go?

"He's got a surprise for you, baby boy. How about you, Michael and Harlow go play some games and we'll see soon?"

That sounds good. Michael takes Harlow and me around to the different little kid games. He even lets me try bobbing for apples even though I can tell he's completely against the idea. Of course, me getting my mouth around an apple is an absolute impossibility; I'm just sticking my face in water and getting my Tigger costume wet as Michael so helpfully commented. I'm still given an apple for my troubles. Harlow was able to get her mouth around an apple and I can't help, but think that's a skill useful for something.

After games, we find more food. The apple theme continues and we have apple-potato pancakes.

Then I hear a guitar strum. It's Uncle Dal on stage! He's up there with some of his friends from school that I've met and they put on a kick-ass little concert singing all kinds of oldies, ones he, Daddy and Papa are always singing to me along with a few country favorites. I dance with Tigger and Harlow and clap. It's really fun. Uncle Dal is the best. Michael can't even hide his smile. I'm pretty sure he likes Uncle Dal too.

"Okay, Kiddo. You ready for some trick-or-treating?" Papa says.

"Are we really going through with that? Don't I get a say?" Michael complains. That makes me feel a little bad for him. He must really be upset to say something like that to Papa.

"No," Papa says.

"Why because I'm…You fools have no idea what you're up against."

"Go wait in the car for us Michael." Holy fuck. I can't believe Papa just banished him to the car. Michael's going to be pissed. It's not a good idea to cross Castiel Winchester.

"No."

"Now, Michael. Unless you'd like to go home?"

Michael wants to dismember Papa slowly, I can tell, but he storms off to the car. Daddy looks regretful; he seems to understand Michael. "Mine?" I say pointing after him.

"He'll be fine, Pumpkin Butter. C'mon, let's change your diaper before we go…souling."

"I'm going to go have a chat with that, 'boy,'" Papa's pissed.

"Dal's just getting his stuff, I'll change Dean, we'll meet you out there," Daddy says with a kiss to Papa's cheek to calm him down. 

Harlow goes with her Mama and Daddy takes me to the washroom to change me, but he seems a bit flustered. He always is when Papa's upset. And now I'm worried about both of them and Michael. Maybe trick-or-treating is a bad idea. Besides, it's not like Daddy's going to let me eat any of that candy.

When we get out to the car, Uncle Dal's there and can barely contain his smile, he thinks it's funny when Papa and Michael fight over me. Daddy puts me in my car seat next to Michael who's quiet and staring ahead at nothing in particular. Papa's equally quiet, Daddy gets in next to him and Dal with them.

Michael and I are way in the back. I think I should do something to make him feel better, but I don't know what. I reach out and touch his hair. "Mine?"

He doesn't say anything, but he grabs my Tigger pawed hand.

The car is still pretty tense when we reach the neighborhood where I'm going to trick-or-treat. Where we live isn't really a neighborhood. The property is so big the next house is quite a ways away. We're in Desi's neighborhood now, and we meet up with her and her Mama, the Becky lady. "Hi Dean," Desi says. Do you even have to ask what she's dressed up as? She's a princess too. God, no originality.

"Hi Des," I say.

"Mommy look! Dean's Tigger."

"I can see that, sweetheart," the Becky lady says.

"And you're a pretty princess baby girl," Daddy says.

Yeah, I'd like to see her scare a revenging soul away in that stupid costume. It doesn't even hide her properly. I'm fucking Tigger—no soul would mess with Tigger.

"Okay, c'mon Duck. Let's get this over with," Michael says taking my hand. We're a little hoard as we make our way to each house since there are seven of us. When we go up to the house, we're supposed to say 'trick-or-treat,' but my version sounds slightly off from that. I don't care; I hold out my little bucket: Give me candy Bitches.

All the houses coo over my Tigger costume and Daddy explains my gramma made it. Everyone's impressed.

Michael holds my hand the whole time and has to put up with comments about being my helpful big brother and I can't help, but snicker. He's too concerned to scold me for laughing at him, or to correct the well-meaning adults. He really is keeping an eye out for 'souls.' Maybe it's not just lore, maybe it's a real thing. Michael has lived a really long time. It could be true that this is the night; a last chance for souls of the departed to gain vengeance on their enemies before moving on to the next world.

Michael's nervousness starts to rub off on me, so when Daddy says we're finished after just ten houses, I don't complain. "I think that's plenty for the two-year-old. He's going to get tired pretty quick and I still want to take him to the bonfire."

"The one good thing," Michael says under his breath to me. "An all hollow's eve bonfire is for scaring witches awaiting their punishment in hell."

I'm surprised when that sounds a bit scary. I tug on the hem of his shirt wanting to be picked up. He does. "Oh, that knocks some sense into you? At least something finally has. Are you finished with this whole fiasco?" Michael doesn't care about scaring me if he thinks me being scared will keep me safe.

"Yeah." I curl into him and yawn. I might not make the bonfire, but I have to try. I wouldn't mind scaring a few witches.

Daddy takes my little candy bucket, shaped like a jack-o-lantern (another thing Michael disapproved of. "Oh sure. Give him something that's meant to represent a soul denied access to heaven and hell," he said). I don't fucking trust him with it after the whole apple cider scam, but I've got little choice. We head over to the bonfire. It's really big and all the kids from this neighborhood eventually make it over. The parents let us roast marshmallows (Michael roasts mine for me) and Daddy actually lets me eat it. "You're going to be a sugar bear after tonight Dean Bean."

Just before it's time to get home Uncle Dal notices something. "You know, I haven't seen Tigger in a while. Who has him?"

"Tigger's right here," Daddy jokes poking my belly.

"I can see that," Uncle Dal says. "But I think we're one Tigger short."

And fuck. Oh fuck. I realize I don't have fucking Tigger. I went and lost my best friend. Daddy can see I'm freaking out. "Don't worry sweetheart. We'll find him. I bet you just dropped him while we were trick-or-treating."

"Souling," Michael mutters for my ears only.

"Can anyone remember when he was last seen?"

No one can remember. Not even me because of the little blip in the night when Papa and Michael had a mini fight. We were all too frazzled.

I turn to Michael, tears in my eyes. "Oh no you don't. Don't start the water works with me. I don't feel sorry for you. I told you, you'd lose him. But would you listen to me? No. No one does. I'm only a centuries old angel—what do I know?"

He says the last part so Daddy, Papa and Uncle Dal can hear. Everyone's too freaked out to tell him off. They know they've got to find my friend, or I'm going to be really fucking upset.

"Fudge," Daddy says. "I can't believe I let this happen. Sorry Dean Bean. Let's go back over our route. I'm sure we'll find him."

I put my head into Michael's neck and cry quietly. I'm trying to be brave—it's what Tigger would want—I hate thinking about him all cold and lonely on the ground somewhere. I think Michael will scold me some more, but he doesn't. He said if I lost him, he wasn't going to help me find him, so I'm surprised when he joins the Tigger search party carrying me the whole time, never getting tired, fueled with the small amount of grace he's got.

We rake over every inch of our route and it takes a long time, but no sign of him. I start to worry Tigger had a soul after him and maybe caught him; I cry harder. Michael's hands dig into me a little; he's very quiet.

"Fiddlesticks. You know what? I'll bet we left him on the change table in the washroom of the church," Daddy says.

"The church is closed now," Papa says regretfully.

"We'll go first thing in the morning, sweetheart, before we go to Gramma's."

I'm not happy with that though. That means Tigger will be alone for the whole night in some dark change room. And what if Daddy's wrong? What if he's not there? I need to know the souls didn't get him. I cry harder, my soother falls out and Michael just catches it. "Aw. C'mere baby boy," Daddy says and takes me from Michael. "It doesn't help he's tired and hopped up on sugar. Let's get him home, Cassy."

But I don't want to go home without Tigger; I turn up the cry meter. Daddy's bouncing and rocking and cooing at me, but I'm inconsolable. Before I'm put in my car seat Michael, who looks angry and fed up with this whole night, comes to me and says, "hang tight, Duckling."

He pulls his cell phone out, types out what is presumably a text and puts his phone back. "I'm good from here Mr. and Mr. Winchester." He hands Daddy my fallen soother and before they can stop him, he's walked off into the night. I'm too upset to make a deal over him leaving.

"Do we let him go, Cassy?" Daddy says over my crying.

"I think he's fine Sam. Let's just get him home."

Uncle Dal and Daddy sit in the back with me and do everything they can think of to soothe me. It works only a little. I'm not crying as hard, but I've still got tears falling and I let the odd sob out. "Tig- _ger_ Daddy?"

It's breaking Daddy's heart. "I know sweetheart. He's lost, but we'll find him tomorrow. I'm sure of it."

"Papa?" I say.

I can see Papa's face in the moonlight. I can see he's considering going over to the church anyway, or wondering what kinds of favors he's done that could get him one of his own. "I'm sorry angel. I swear, I'll be up at the crack of dawn tomorrow. We'll get Tigger."

Even Papa can't help me.

Daddy gets me ready for bed, changing me out of the Tigger costume and giving me my soother, but I've still got this racking, heaving silent sob thing going. Tigger usually gets ready for bed with me. "Oh baby boy. That look on your face, it's killing me."

I know that and for once I'm not trying to make Daddy feel bad, but I can't help it. I might never see my best friend again.

Daddy's trying really hard to put me to bed, but I just can't go to sleep even if I feel exhausted. I sullenly suck my soother and take shaky, crying breaths.

Until there's a knock on my bedroom door. "Dean, someone's here to see you," Papa says.

Michael steps though the door and he looks like maybe he's fallen in a bush…or two. His fancy shirt is undone (he's the only kid who wears button-up shirts frequently) there's dirt all over him and I think that's a stick in his hair. Oh, wow. His pant leg is torn.

And clutched in his right hand is Tigger.

I crawl across the bed and simultaneously grab onto Tigger and allow myself to be lifted into his arms. Squeezing Tigger tight, I smoosh myself as far as I can go into his neck and I can't for the life of me figure out why I'm still crying diaphragm racking sobs. "It's okay, little duck. Were you crying this whole time?"

I nod into this neck.

"Please stop now. Everything is all right." He pats my back and rocks me side to side.

"Thank God for you Michael. Thanks for retrieving Tigger. Was he at the church?"

I feel him nod. "Right where he was left; in the washroom on the change table."

"What happened? You look like—"

"I fell in a bush? I did. I was able to get a ride, but I was refused any more help than that. I had to break into the church the old fashioned way and with this tiny body and hardly any powers, it proved difficult. I fell from the window I was attempting to climb in. It was a pretty bad fall, but nothing's broken. I think I've bruised my vessel though."

I don't mean to, but I giggle. I don't know what it is about that, but people hurting themselves is funny. Uncle Dal pretends to smack into walls and trip all over the place for me and I laugh hysterically. Thinking of Michael falling in a bush cracks me up.

"Oh. You think that's funny do you?"

"Yeah," I say. I pull away and look up at him saying thank-you with my eyes. He'll know.

"Thank-you, Michael," that's Papa. "Your efforts are truly appreciated."

"It's no problem, sir." That's their version of making up.

I hold Tigger out to Daddy. "Daddy?" He needs to check him over to make sure he's okay like he does with Dean and give him a kiss.

Daddy knows what to do. "Yep, tail's in tact…both eyes…preposterous chin…all stripes accounted for. He's good Dean Bean. Welcome home Tigger." Daddy kisses his head.

I hold him out to Papa. Papa kisses him too. "You scared us, Tigger. I'll have to spank you next time if you take off like that again." I know Papa's only joking and I giggle. You can't spank Tiggers; they're too bouncy. Papa just cares about Tigger too.

Next is Michael. "I'm never going to get the dirt out of my hair, these clothes are ruined and now I have to kiss that mangy thing?"

I stick my lip out. Doesn't he love Tigger?

His eyes roll so hard I think they're going to get lost inside his head. He kisses Tigger. "Take off again Tigger and I'll replace you with a Piglet."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because when Pooh meets Tigger it's priceless. Revisit your childhood and have a little watch! 
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Bc_b-qE9gl8
> 
> P.P.S.S Any Time Stamps you'd like to see, lmk and if they work, I will do them.


	26. TIME STAMP: Baby Winchester's First Christmas (1)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas to everyone and Happy belated Hanukkah! Also Merry day to those who celebrate nothing, or some other holiday I'm unaware of. How was that for PC? Mock isn't so PC, in case you haven't noticed, but I try sometimes. 
> 
> I've had this planned for a while and I almost thought it wasn't going to happen. As I mentioned, I had surgery just over a week ago. I thought it was going to be 20 days of writing bliss! HA! Was I wrong. I was in so much pain I actually had to take pain meds (sorry Sam, you would have too) which made me drowsy, tired, nauseous and all around crappy feeling. Plus I was still in pain (they could only do so much) plus I couldn't sit in front of a computer, due to what I had done in the surgery (hip and knee) nor could I look at a computer screen for too long. I'm MUCH better now, but am afraid I'll still be slow. I can look at the screen now (I officially got myself off the meds!! Switching over to something more natural and Christmas-y; wine) but cannot sit for long periods of time. Whew. Okay, enough about Mock. 
> 
> This story. 
> 
> I realized I should note for new readers that this piece has been added well after the other stories in the series. The is info I'm going to assume everyone knows at this point. I'm not one of those authors that likes to repeat too many things. So might be best to read the other stories first, then come back to this one. 
> 
>  
> 
> **TIME FRAME**
> 
>  
> 
> This occurs just after TW, but BEFORE Dean's "second" Bday, which means it happened before chapter 24 and 25. At this point, I picture Dean to still have retained some of Old Dean (if you re-read chapter 24, you'll notice he still remembers what hunting is) I delve a little further into what he feels and what he's losing at this stage than I did in chapter 24. Mostly b/c it's fun, but also I've been wanting to do it for a while. When I wrote chapter 24, it was more about saying goodbye and moving onto the next story, so I opted to leave much of that out in that chapter. Also, I wanted to leave some bits like this for Time Stamps...like this one! It will help in understanding Dean in GUW. I hope you enjoy those parts. 
> 
> This story will contain some graphic Sastiel sexy times in Part II, which I also hope will further reader context wrt to Sam and Cas. 
> 
> This is my Christmas present to everyone!! Thank you so much for reading my stories. Many of you all year. You have no idea what joy this has brought me. Each of you has played a part in repairing my broken spirit this year. I have much to be grateful for and that includes all of you! Happy, happy Christmas Everyone. 
> 
> xoxoxo  
> Mock

Two and a Half Weeks Before Christmas

"No! No Pala. Mine."

Dean's got a cookie I gave him, one of the Christmas ones we baked together, Pala's trying to wrestle from him, first by licking cookie crumbs from his face, then by going after the cookie in his fist. Dean turns his little body away from her, his shiny blonde curls like gossamer in the cool, sun rays pouring in from the windows on all sides. She chases the fist with the cookie, barking her complaints that he won't just give it to her.

"Mine Pala," he says mixed with baby giggles as she takes a gentle and large bite of the cookie, careful not to hurt her boy. At the same time, he smooshes what's left in his mouth, Pala jumps at him, knocking Dean enough off balance, he falls on his diapered butt, then onto his back with a gentle paw to his little chest; she finishes sopping up the cookie mixed with baby saliva. Dean's still giggling. Michael would have a fit.

I continue pulling decorations out of boxes, knowing they don't need my interference at the moment, used to their rough housing. He's still scared of the dog, loathe as he is to admit it, which is why he bravely plays with her, like the little soldier that's still in him—even if barely there. More often, he runs to Daddy and it's fudging cute, but when he's distracted, like he is now with that cookie (something more easily done now with our boy than ever—distraction), that's when the rough housing takes place. Cas isn't as okay with the way they play as I am, because he doesn't see them do it enough to know it's usually harmless, only hearing about the times it hasn't been. He's not here right now and I feel like I've got a handle on it. Pala's pretty careful with him; injury usually only occurs when the levels of excitement exceed well beyond what they are now, like when Dean tries to run. Dean leans forward and pushes himself back up, palms to the floor, then toddles over to where I am. "Daddy. Gone. Mine c-coo… Cook…"

"That's it baby. Cook-ie. _Cook_ -ie."

"Cook-kee," he pushes out.

"Good boy!" I pick him up and kiss his chubby, baby cheeks.

Dean still struggles with his words, but it's coming. He's learned a few more and with us helping, it has helped him some, unlike before when it seemed to do nothing. "We'll get you another cookie Dean Bean, but first, why don't you help Daddy with the decorations? Look."

I set him back down and toss a giant wreath around his body. He bends down to inspect the soft, faux needles. We always order some real ones too and hire staff to decorate the majority of the house—it's too big for me alone, even with Dal's help this year. We'll do the smaller stuff ourselves.

We've changed some of our usual routine this year. Because of Dean, our usual would never do, before him, it was just Cas and I, a very adult kind of Christmas. Things will have to be different this year, so I've restructured things. It's his first Christmas with us. I don't know what Dean's other Christmas's have been like, this year, it's going to be spectacular."

**

Dally comes in the living room, still ruffling himself from the cold, wearing his tan suede jacket with the sheep's wool collar, blowing into his hands. "You sure it ain't fixing to snow Sammy?"

"It is colder than usual, but it's still ten degrees Dal, not to mention, it doesn't snow in Collins California." It must feel like it's going to snow to him. It's still plenty hot back home.

"That's not what I read; it did ten years ago."

"Dally?" Dean says from inside a box he climbed into, hard to distinguish from the sea of garland he's wrapped in. "Help, Dally! Help!"

Pala barks helpfully. Dal lifts him out peeling garland from him. "Half-pint? That you?"

Dean's answer is latching onto Dally's suede jacket. He's happy to see his favorite Uncle. "It's a madhouse out there, glad I'm done my Christmas shopping."

"Oh yeah? Then where were you?" His classes are done for the semester.

"I was… there's this sweet little lady, Rose, she wanted to go ice skating, so I took her to one of those indoor arenas."

"Did you now, Dallas Colt?"

Dean rubs his little eyes and lets out a long yawn, so tired he's curling into Uncle Dal some more. "I'm saved by the tired baby. I can put him down for a snooze. You tired Half-pint?"

"No," he says around his soother, popping his eyes wide, forcing himself back to wakefulness.

"Come now," Dally says, in the gentle voice of our father's, sliding Dean's fine hair back. "When you wake up, Michael will be here."

"Mine?"

"Yep."

Dean yawns again, rests his head on the cuff fiddling with the curiosity of a toddler. "I'll take him up. He need a diaper change?"

"Likely. Thanks, Dal."

**

The memories are fewer and fewer, hazier and hazier, because of this fucked up Modlenol crap and Christ, I plunge further and further into the baby zone. I have moments where I don't even know that I'm not a baby, or well, I guess I am, but there's still just enough of me, _just_ enough, to remember that only a short time ago, I was a Hunter.

And I remember Christmas when I was six. Old enough to know what Christmas was all about—I watched T.V., it taught me things. I was alone. Even at six, while yeah, presents were cool, I wasn't going to turn them down, all I really wanted was Dad home with me. I watched The Grinch Who Stole Christmas, I knew what was up. You didn't need presents to have a good Christmas, just loved ones.

I hoped for a Christmas miracle that year. Made myself a box of Kraft Dinner on Christmas Eve (yeah when I was only six), set the table for two. Waited. The noodles got cold. Congealed. Became inedible. No Dad. I went to bed.

He returned four days later with a teddy bear for me. I was insulted. At six, I already felt past needing a teddy bear, especially in that life. I was mad. Mad because I felt like he didn't know anything about me. I confided this in Uncle Bobby and Uncle Bobby claimed he did know me, which is why he got me the bear. Some last ditched effort, him trying to get me to re-claim a childhood that was already lost forever. He learned from that. From there on out, it was all practical hunting shit.

This year, Dad will get what he wanted that Christmas: Me with a childhood and I'll get what I wanted: Christmas with loved ones. I'm fucking excited about it too. Daddy already let me play in the Christmas decorations and said something about getting a tree with Michael, when Papa gets home. We've been doing all sorts of Christmasy things, some I've liked and some I haven't, but I don't really care what we do, so long as I'm not alone on Christmas. "Daddy! Daddy!" I call. I just woke up from the fucking nap Uncle Dal tricked me into. I don't like to be kept waiting long, so I whack the bars of my crib with my soother and call again.

In fact, I cry, yeah cry, _urgently_ with fucking tears and everything. Tears I can't fucking explain to you. It's just something I do now. We've all gotten used to it. Daddy's pretty prompt after that. I continue to cry and I want to glare at him for taking so long, but I can't.

Every time I see the man, I get this bubble in my chest, of pure white happiness. I'm overwhelmed with joy, excited it's him. Daddy. I love him so fucking much. My whole world is made up of Daddy. The guy does everything for me, has a big, goofy smile on his face doing everything for me, even when it's things like change my diapers. My heart lifts high and I get an eager buzz through my body and that's just because he fucking walked into the room.

"My Dean Bean's awake!" he says. I let the tears fall, still needing to cry for reasons beyond my understanding and reach for him, curling into him for a cuddle when he pulls me to his torso. _Ahh. That feels fucking better._

He adjusts my t-shirt, the one with fucking Christmas themed baby bunnies on it, I didn't even blink an eye to when he put it on me and takes the soother from my hand and presses it into my mouth. I make a few whimpering noises, but I stop crying. Daddy lays me on the change table. "Papa's going to be home soon, baby boy, then we'll go get a tree!"

He says a lot of things in that excited kind of voice. I'm not sure why.

He pokes my belly. I laugh. "There's my happy, boy."

**

Downstairs, Uncle Dal is sorting through the boxes. Daddy puts me down, Pala immediately joins me. She still jumps at me and knocks me over, but it's not every five fucking seconds. I still get, well not scared of her, but _apprehensive_ depending on my mood, but sometimes I'm okay to play with her. Roughhouse, like Papa says. Don't ask me to explain why, you'll be disappointed, 'cause I just don't fucking know.

I take my soother out. "Eeee?" I say to Uncle Dal. How hard is it, to say fucking tree? I stuff my soother back in, disappointed in myself and sign 'tree' like Daddy taught me.

"Good job half-pint. Yeah. We're going to get the tree. First we're having lunch I think."

"Papa?"

"And we're waiting for Papa."

"Someone say Papa?"

The same excitement that gushes everyday when I hear his gravely voice, builds then overflows like water over a damn. Today, I don't want to run to him, like I do sometimes, but wait with a nervous pitter-patter and wonder. Papa is still a marvelous, mystery to me and sometimes, all I can do is stare in awe of him. So I wait, sucking my soother with a shy smile behind it, the palms of my hands pressed flat together, hoping he'll notice me. "Someone's happy to see Papa," Daddy says.

Papa has his big smile for me. I've noticed he doesn't smile like that for just anyone. He puts down the black bag he brings to work, his beige trench coat fans behind him. Long precise strides. I'm lifted from under my armpits. He rests an arm under my bottom and holds me a bit awkwardly against him until I reacquaint myself with him. Because he's gone a lot, it's something I have to do with him. Yet another thing that I'm fucked if I know why and can only blame the baby that's taking hold of me inside. It only takes a second though and I'm sinking into the safe, warm security that is Papa, even if a bit shyly.

"How's my boy? We going to get a tree?"

They speak a lot more simply to me than they used to, which I'm glad for if you can believe it. Another thing that comes and goes—me comprehending what they say. Daddy thinks I get a lot more than what regular eighteen month olds 'get,' but some of that fades and they never know when…I never know when, so it really is just best they keep it pretty simple.

"Yeah." I can't say tree. Fuck. I'd like to say tree for Papa. Wouldn't he be proud?

He bounces me; I curl into him further.

"He just woke up. We were going to feed him lunch, Cassy." Daddy comes over to kiss Papa's lips. "Why don't you go shower and change, we're still waiting for Michael."

 _As if Papa cares about waiting for Michael._ Papa kisses my head then puts me down. "Okay. Better get a move on. We want to make sure to get a big one. The best one." Papa crouches down to my level. "Huh, Kiddo?"

I smile and curl a hand into my hair; I look to Daddy. Why am I so fucking shy with Papa today? _Maybe it is because I just woke up?_ Fuck. I don't know. This baby shit is weird.

Daddy rescues me by lifting me to him. It's not _better_ being with Daddy, just more comfortable. Probably because we're together all the time. Pala barks at Papa. She doesn't like being left out and Papa didn’t say hi to her. Since he's still at sea level, he reaches out to give her a good pet; both hands, under her chin where it meets the scruff of her neck, how she likes it. I hide into Daddy, he pats my diapered bum.

"I'll start fixing him some lunch," Uncle Dal says and leaves the room.

Papa stands to full height, which is shorter than Daddy, but he somehow seems taller. "Oh, Baby. I missed you both today. Couldn't stop thinking of you two." He pulls Daddy in for a special kiss, right by my head.

"Mmm… You say that everyday Cas."

"That's because everyday it's true."

Daddy still smiles like Papa doesn't say it everyday, like it's the first time he's said it, even though Daddy's right, he says something sappy like that almost every fucking day. "That why you're home so early? We didn't expect you 'till after lunch."

"Yep. Finished as fast as I could. Started my Christmas vacation early too—I don't have to go in for the rest of the week."

"Oh Cas! This is great. Best present ever." They kiss a-fucking-gain.

I'm happy too and I want Papa to know, so in-fucking-pulsively, I lean out to press a soother kiss on his cheek. "Good, Papa."

He smiles like a million Christmas lights.

To Be Continued...


	27. TIME STAMP: Baby Winchester's First Christmas (2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so happy we all missed Baby Dean! I didn't even know how much I missed him 'till I began writing this. 
> 
> Now this chapter. This is all from Cas's POV. He tells us a story about taking Dean to see Santa, but that's all the Dean we get. The rest is a very intense smexy scene with Sam and Cas, so be prepared to switch gears. 
> 
> The next parts are ALL chalk full of our cutesy, gets his way baby boy, so hang tight. 
> 
> So uh, for the Sastiel lovers, this one's for you!

I don't know how Dean does it, but one little affectionate gesture from him and I'm sailing across the fresh ocean on a calm day, the sea salt in my nostrils, the air crisp with the sun cool. I step out of the shower, whistling jingle bells, thinking about how grateful I am for my little family. It hasn't always been easy having a little one, but I'm up for any challenge whose small rewards are so large. I'm even pleasantly surprised with the addition of Dallas to our home. I don't think I could ever turn away puppy eyes McGee and his request for family members to live with us, even if it was the terrible twins, but I've actually _enjoyed_ having Dallas, he's become one of my own, I'll be sad to see him go in a few years.

Michael, I can do without.

I choose comfortable jeans, a cotton t-shirt and warm socks; tree hunting attire then try to do something with the rat's nest, otherwise known as my hair. I don’t know why I still bother. Sometimes Sam can make it do nice things, but I seldom can. Like for instance, the day we took Dean to see Santa.

Which, if you wanted to know, I don't recommend. Why anyone would want to take their small child to wait in line, just to have him scream on some guy's knee is beyond my comprehension, because let me tell you, it wasn't just Dean. Most of the smaller children screamed. And a line up is no place for a child. Especially when they have the attention span of gnats. Next year, if it really must be done, I'll hire someone to come here dressed as Santa and I think with what happened this year, Sam won't even think to protest.

But this year we went. Sam wanted us to have the 'experience,' since the mall was (his words) awash with joyous Christmas anticipation. He also 'needed' not just the one of Dean, but a family photo for Christmas cards. I didn't want to be in a Santa photo, but he was so damn excited, I couldn't say no. Our son, however, had no such compunction making his discomfiture known. But the day would happen whether we wanted it or not.

Sam made me sit in a chair in our ensuite bathroom, until he forced my hair to do what he wanted it to. Somehow, my hair knew it had better listen to Sam, or else. Not that I didn't get frustrated after thirty minutes of his fussing and issue promises of spanking if he didn't stop looking at me with that disappointed frown of his. In the end, my hair ended up obeying Sam.

Our boy was unhappy from the start. He did not like the outfit Daddy put him in, nor the fact that we had to rush out the door, with the plan that if we got there early enough, we wouldn't be waiting too far down the line up. Dean doesn't care about such things. He didn't get to bask in the luxury of a slow morning, as per his usual and did not appreciate his routine being tampered with. Particular is our boy.

We still had to stand in a line; we were early enough it wasn't too bad, but it was still too long for our child, who the three of us had to take turns entertaining without much success. It left me wishing I had allowed Michael to attend. Much as I don't like to admit it, he does have a way with Dean none of us have and often his presence alone calms Dean like a grounding wire.

Dean cried when we finally got him to Santa's lap and no amount of Sam asking him to _smile for Daddy,_ or any of his usual tricks to make Dean smile were of any use. Sam's disappointment was written on him, so even I pandered to the nonsense, dancing around like a monkey, doing any silly thing I thought would get our son to smile, or in the least, stop crying. No luck. Even Uncle Dal struck out and he has the ability to get Dean laughing hard enough, I'm sure it hurts his stomach. The seasonal, teenage Christmas staff was of no help. They waited for us to sort it out ourselves, texting their friends and snapping selfies to post on Instagram.

Sam had to settle for the family photo alone as Christmas cards. Dean was soothed, so long as Sam was holding onto him. He was willing to indulge Daddy that much, but it was easy to read the look on Dean's face: _Get me off this fucking creepy dude's lap Daddies._ He also kept giving me a look, prompting me to put an end to this nonsense, already knowing I hold that role in our family. Only in this case, I really was powerless. Not only had I agreed to following Sam's lead in all things Dean, but even if I hadn't, I'd never be able to stomach Sam's disappointment. Not that I can't ever stomach Sam's disappointment. Sometimes it must be done, but not for this. If someone knows how to explain all that to your eighteen-month-old moddler, I'm all ears.

We got a reasonable family picture with Uncle Dallas smiling the biggest, having found the whole thing a barrel of laughs, Sam smiling with his concerned about Dean look in his eyes, and me with my serious half-smile, making my eyes stay to the camera, all my awareness on Dean.

Dean was a Daddy cling-on for the rest of the day. Sam felt terrible, the guilt overwhelmed him enough I had to spank him that night before bed. The whole thing a huge disaster.

Until three days later when Sam saw that all the other parents had similar experiences with their Santa pictures and were making one another feel better by posting their crying child with Santa pictures. If they were having a contest though, I'm sure Dean's would win. It was so awful, I can't believe Sam posted it. Dean bawling like I've never seen him, reaching for one of us, any of us; scared, miserable, tears marching like ants down his face, big and plenty.

Apparently, none of the Colt children had ever reacted that badly to a Santa photo. I told Sam that of course they didn't, the Colts always outnumbered Santa.

"Well howdy Cowboy," Sam says coming into the bedroom. He often says that when I wear jeans. I get a long kiss. "Michael's here. I left Dean with him and Dal, we could have a little pre-Christmas tree fun." He waggles his eyebrows.

"And mess my hair?

He laughs as I remove his shirt. "I like your messy hair."

"Unless it involves Santa and his teenage elves."

He starts on my jeans, the ones I just put on.

"We all know how well that turned out." He yanks on my jeans and kneels before my cock that's always hard for him. He palms it above my black boxers. "May I suck your cock, sir?"

"Oh? You in the mood for some Christmas tree wrangling, sex, Baby?" He's 'in the mood' for rough sex more than usual these days and I know why, I'm just not one hundred percent certain what to do about it. I have noticed things. Things that I'm not comfortable with. I know Dean is little and I trust Sam, I really do, but Dean has the run of the place. Sometimes it leads to what I feel are potentially dangerous situations.

I know Sam is responsible with children, with our child, hell, he's far better than I am with little ones, which is why I made the decision that I follow his lead with all things Dean, but Sam's lax, even for a Colt and especially for him. I know as well as Sam does, our decision, though well intended, has messed with our dynamic. We feel we're building closer to a bomb going off, both of us knowing we're in a head-long rush to that day, trying to slow it down, or somehow diffuse it before it's too late.

The "rough" sex, is both because we enjoy it—we enjoy it tremendously—and us hoping we can restore balance this way, since neither of us can figure another way of solving this problem. We're still us. We still have all our rules in place, follow them, I give ample spanking threats and promises (which have shot up exponentially in number over the past several months) but not having full dominion of our home is not what we're comfortable with. Sam is that goody-good brat that's not really a brat, who relishes in behaving for me. When he knows he's acting against what he knows I'll like, in favor of our cute, too-adorable-for-his-own-good, troublemaker, guilt builds. Instability grows.

We don't even have to have a physical conversation for both of us to know what's up—we can practically read each other's minds by this point in our lives having known one another since we were five. We know. We're in our own kind of standoff, both of us aware that it's me who has to make the move. Take charge. It won't work any other way. _You've got to Winchester up, Winchester._

I know. I _know._ The apprehension dies a little every day. My ways are harsh, but right for my family. Doesn't make it any easier to do what I know I have to. I am building up to it. I will do it. I _will._ But for today we have this.

"Just a little," he winks. And I know exactly how much to give him. Sam and I are a long time practiced pair. We've made our share of mistakes to get here, big ones, some day I'll share them. But for now, know that, though we aren't perfect (that's part of the maturity and the wisdom, know you are never, ever perfect. That you must always work at a relationship of any kind) we've reached a level of consciousness where I am him and he is me.

"You may suck my cock boy, no hands."

Sam smiles.

I'm well aware that's no challenge for him, not at this point; he excels at that and I love watching the practiced ease with which he uses his teeth to unwrap my cock. But there are concessions we have to make with a little one, no matter how much help we have. There's simply less time. You never know when he'll decide that even Michael will not do and the situation requires Daddy, or if I'm lucky Papa. He's been responsible for many a cockblock, thus lately, it's been short sessions, like this one will be, ones that may lack creativity, but are never meager in the aggression we both crave.

In no time, my throbbing cock is out and sucked down his warm, wet mouth.

I still marvel at Sam as he does this. No matter how often he does this. I don't know how I got so lucky. Sam's this massive, beast of a man. A beast that wants, _craves_ to be tamed by me. Relishes in my praise. Looks to me to provide structure; safety. And looks fuckhot when he's sucking my dick. Power rushes through me as I think about taming him, ruling this magnificent creature, protecting him. I fist into his long Sam hair and shove my cock in at the just-too-fast pace I know he's looking for and have to squeeze my nuts to hold off coming in his mouth.

I pull out. He whines. "Take your pants off, just your pants and bend over the bed on your forearms."

"Yes, sir." His eyes are a light with little boy Christmas excitement, knowing I have a wicked idea.

I grab lube, while he does as instructed, I also grab my leather strap from its place beside our 'fun closet.' Sometimes, I use a belt I might wear (Sam loves that), but this one is our special one for this kind of fun. I slide a hand down his wide, muscled back and under the waistband of his boxers, circling a finger at his hole, taking a long minute to admire my Sam.

"Please, sir."

 _Sam's extra needy today._ I kick things up a notch. I withdraw my finger and give him a hearty whack to his ass. "You know better."

He shouldn't be begging me so soon, but Sam's likely already edged from that blowjob. He loves sucking my cock like that. "Maybe you shouldn't come at all for that, hmm? How much fun would it be for me to tease the living fuck out of you, leave you needy and wanting then lock your poor cock up while we hunt for a Christmas tree?"

He whimpers. "I imagine really fun for you, sir." He doesn't say more than that and he doesn't complain knowing if he pushes me, I'll do exactly that if I want to. And if it's what I want, Sam will comply even though it's not his favorite. He loves pleasing me more than he hates cock cages and if that weren't enough for him, the orgasm I always give him for wearing one for me (unless it was for punishment) always is.

"Merry Christmas to me," I add, thinking I'm funny and patting his ass, which is vulnerable and mine for the taking. Sam's trying not to laugh at me. Likely not at my joke, but that he knows I think I'm hilarious. "I have been a very good boy this year and I plan to enjoy my present." I slide his boxers down to his ankles, but don't take them off.

"Spread your legs as wide as those will let you. They don't come off."

He does, until his ass muscles contract with the strain of abduction. His muscles will have to work and will grow tired with the effort. It will eventually be uncomfortable. Torturous. "Good boy."

His cheeks are still pink from the spanking I gave him last night. I rub to awaken his senses there before I lay a tastey _th_ -whack! across both cheeks with my strap. Sam moans with both the pain and the relief of it, rocking from foot to foot, attempting to make his ass available for more, frustrated because there's only so wide he can go with his boxers restricting him. "Can't move anymore than that, can you baby?"

"No, sir."

Not without disobeying my orders anyway. "That's a shame." I lay down a few more, in a rhythm and pace that make his cries long, but definitive; no cry leaking into the next, each separate, having its own chance to be heard. I enjoy each one, my cock leaking and have to squeeze each time, even go as far as pinch the base of my cock, so I don't come.

Sam has gorgeous tears streaking his face, but not in sadness. They are agony twisted into pleasure. He's like abstract art when he's like this, something you can stare at and enjoy. Raw. Colors. Fascinating beauty, you can't quite put your finger on; no one word able to articulate the feeling you feel when gazing. Torment. Comfort. Sanity. Insanity. All splashed onto the canvas that is Sam, his physical body flexing, straining, him taking it all and sinking into the warmth it brings him.

I throw the strap aside in favor of lube, admiring my marks as I pour too much down his crease and slowly work two fingers into him.

_Now he may beg._

"Oh god, please sir. Please fuck me good. Hard."

Sam knows my fetish for him swearing, but he still makes me work for it. He's generous with his rewards for me. "I will baby, soon. Just a bit more."

He almost cries when I reach a slick hand to his dick. He both wants to close his legs and spread them wider, but can do neither. I won't allow either. He knows it, that thought serving to turn him on that much more. The first he must simply obey with the knowledge I'll be displeased if he should do so, the second, because I've physically obstructed him from doing so and with his own boxers. I _could_ remove them, make it easy for him, relive the strain I know has built in his tired glute muscles and the need of spreading his legs to feel more. But I won't. _How deliciously frustrating it must be for him._ If I didn't already know Sam as I do, I could tell by the noises he's making.

I stroke lightly with purpose to drive him mad. More tears, frustrated tears, add to the others and take the same tear path, dripping their way to the bed sheets as he fights to hold back from coming. "Good boy, you can do this for me. That's my good, good, boy," I tell him over an over, sensing his doubt. Doubt has its way of seeping in, no matter how many times we've done this and this is a relatively light session for us, but there are so many factors to consider; I cannot assume that each day will be the same as the next. In the heat of the moment, it's a lot of feelings fired all at once and he needs the reminder.

I relish in the beautiful torture on his face, in his body that's taut as a bowstring, and red and wet and pleading. I feel the relief and disappointment when I let go his cock then the excitement when I line up mine with his ready hole. I slide in fast and hard; that's the lovemaking Sam and I are entrapped by in this moment; that's how we'll finish this. It's all lovemaking to us, no matter how violent. The deep love we have for each other is always there, always guiding us.

"I want you to come on my cock Baby."

He's too far gone to do anything, but make primal sounds. I fuck into him, rough and possessive like he wants, like I want, our love still fuelling everything that is Sam and Cas. We both come in fluid fountains, worked to the bone with the strain of our kind of lovemaking, floating on the high, relieved with exhaustion. Happy. Content.

I pull Sam onto the bed with me and into my arms, neither of us caring how messy we are and I hold him tight, drawing light circles on his skin, kissing him, whispering endearments, until he comes back to me.


	28. TIME STAMP: Baby Winchester's First Christmas (3)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There was a bit of a hiccup this chapter, which is why it took so long. I had wanted to post it last night. 
> 
> Because it's been awhile, a little reminder. Dean at this stage, has just enough old Dean in him that he does comprehend some things our sweet three-year-old does not...but he's slowly forgetting. Therefore, I see this Dean as better able to analyze Michael and their friendship. He knows Michael loves him and that Michael's indifference is just an act. As time goes on, he forgets that Michael's scowly, ornery behavior is all an act. What he's currently rediscovering in WW. The thread of Michael loving him remains, but at times (in WW) he's apt to forget, because let's face it, Michael can be a huge dick. 
> 
> Haha!
> 
> Okay, hope that makes sense. 
> 
> I _think_ there are going to be two more parts to this 'little' Christmas story. I hope you're enjoying. I know not everyone's down for the Sastiel, so thank you for being kind and not complaining. I do have some Sas lovers out there (me included) wanted to make sure all bases were covered in this story.

"Mo' ham! Mo' ham!" God damn it Michael! I bang on my highchair tray and even fucking sign the word 'more,' so he'll get the fucking picture. 'Cept I know Michael doesn't need all that to get the fucking picture, he's just being a dick. Okay, well maybe not a dick. He's purposefully being chintzy with the ham, because he thinks I'm going to choke; according to him, I stuff shit in my mouth too fast. I disagree.

"You little miscreant. You're much more polite with your parents and your uncle Dallas."

 _If I don't, it's his fault. I would say please to him, if it actually worked with him._ Uncle Dal laughs from over by the sink where he's standing, crossing his arms one over the other, but his eyes aren't set firm like when he's about to scold, so I know he's just teasing when he says, "Behave yourself Dean Winchester, Sur," in his relaxed way, enjoying the Dean and Michael show, but knowing we can get out of hand.

We fight. A lot. We have the most fucked up relationship on Earth. We agree on nothing. What I like, he hates. He constantly scolds me. Tells me what to do. What not to do. Half the time I don't know why we're friends.

But none of that changes the way my heart soars when I see him, or that fact that I never want to be separated from him. I hate when he has to go home. I don't feel whole until I'm with Michael. When we're apart, it feels like I'm missing a kidney. Sure I function just fine without him, but I do so much better with him near me. Nothing feels like Michael. Unbreakable. Home. Love. Warmth. Certainty. There's a pull we both feel toward the other, a pull we can't pull away from if we wanted to and we don't. He's mine. He's for me. Michael will tear the Earth apart before he'll let harm come to me. Don't let his constant scowl fool you.

Begrudgingly, Michael gives me ham. "One. At. A. Time. I don't need you choking this close to Christmas."

Whatever. He keeps saying he hates Christmas. Says we have the whole story wrong, but refuses to tell us the 'right' story, claiming it's too awful for our senseless, Christmas, gingerbread-baked minds to reconcile and it would ruin our Christmases.

I smile and stuff more ham in—one at a time—until Uncle Dal comes at me with a cloth and I know what that means. "No, Dally."

"No? But we gotta clean you up half-pint. Daddy will have fun snacks for you for in the car and I'm sure he said something about his special hot chocolate for later."

Hot chocolate? I'm well and truly bribed. Hot chocolate has sugar in it. I've been keeping a detailed list of the things with sugar in them, Daddy will let me have, which is not fucking hard to do, because let me tell you, it's a short fucking list. I hold out my messy hands for Uncle Dal, nicely and let him wipe them off, as well as my face. That's when Daddy and Papa come strolling back in the kitchen, looking extra happy.

Something tells me I should know why. I'll probably remember later, or tomorrow, but if it doesn't come to me now, I'll likely be distracted with something else. For now, I just assume Daddy's probably extra happy, because we're going to hunt for a tree. He's been talking about it for days, so much, he's even kindled some excitement in me.

Nothing could get me in the mood for sitting on a creepy old dude's lap. The whole tradition is insane. I mean, he wants to bring me presents, okay, but I think we should keep our relationship long distance. Strictly to the letter Daddy and I wrote to him.

Papa leans against the counter and pulls Daddy to him like he does, Daddy molds to him like Papa's his safety net, as Uncle Dal finishes cleaning me. I can't figure out why Papa's so happy. Michael being here usually makes his eyebrows frown. "So? We ready to go crew?" Papa asks.

"Yep," Uncle Dal says lifting me out of my highchair, without bothering to remove my highchair tray, sitting me on Michael's knee so I can snuggle him. "I'll grab Dean's shoes and coat."

But he doesn't get the chance. Grampa Winchester suddenly appears at the Kitchen's sliding glass door. He gives a perfunctory knock, but lets himself in, sliding the door open wide, like he owns the place (Grampa owns most places he walks into by virtue of walking into them). "Right in there, straight on through the kitchen, veer right into the sittin' room," Grampa instructs. A man carries the trunk of the large pine, then comes the middle of the tree with another man, and last, the top with yet another man to carry that portion. The tree is so freaking big, it takes three burly men to carry it inside. Needles fall like glitter everywhere, as they parade on through, making a huge mess.

Gramma trails in after them.

My eyes go wide, as I watch the tree come through and I can't help smiling. It's big. Like big, and combined with Gramma and Grampa being here, well I always like seeing them, so my smile is probably equally as big. I point to the tree as it floats away and try again, hoping Papa will hear. Daddy and I did make him some stuff for his Christmas presents, but I think it would be a better present if I said more things. I've seen his face. Sometimes, it twists, concerned when I can't say things. I'd rather see his proud-of-me face. "E-eee." God damn. That's worse.

"Why I say, I say that's the finest tree in Collin's County. Gramma and I found it just for you, Cowboy." Grampa smiles in my direction, proud of what he's done for me. He's a good Grampa.

But while that all sounds like a good thing, I don't feel like it is. Uncle Dal's mouth is dropped, his eyes say he's lost for words. Even Michael, not one to betray any other feeling than indifference over a human matter, is clearly panicked. His eyes are usually glued to me, but right now, they're strictly on Daddy.

When I look, I see why Michael looks the way he does at Daddy. Daddy is devastated.

_Doesn't he like the tree? I thought he was excited about getting a tree. Now we have one._

And if the look on Daddy's face wasn't worrisome enough, Papa looks downright distraught. Daddy's face contorts, he's fighting against what his face wants to do, 'till he finally can't. He covers his face, tears away from Papa and runs toward the kitchen's exit that will take him to the entryway, instead of the living room, or sittin' room as Grampa calls it. I'm pretty sure he's crying.

_Wow. Daddy's really strong if even Papa can't hold him. Papa tried. Believe me._

The happy mood of the Kitchen has been snuffed, definite as a flame. Even Gramma and Grampa are no longer smiling. I'm still looking after Daddy from Michael's lap, worried. I know Daddy's upset. My lip wobbles. Papa notices, swoops in like a hawk and snatches me from Michael's lap, plucking my soother off the table and pressing it between my lips. "Daddy's fine, kiddo." He starts bouncing me gently. I'm not sure about that. I don't cry, but I remain at the ready, feeling the tears already there, prickling my eyes, undecided as to whether Papa's ministrations are calming me or not.

"What's going on?" Grampa is genuinely baffled.

"We were just on our way to get a tree," Papa says quietly. "Sam was looking forward to picking a tree _with_ Dean for the first time, especially since the visit to Santa was such a disaster." Gramma and even Grampa, both wince at that, probably having received the Christmas card. And I think Daddy and Gramma are Facebook friends; I'm pretty sure my stellar picture made its debut there.

"And the Christmas parade," Uncle Dal chimes in. "Cried the whole time there too."

Well, who likes being in a suffocating crowd, that's loud and full of freaky looking creatures that Uncle Jared and Jensen should seriously look into? Daddy tried to assure me they weren't real, but I didn't fucking trust that talking reindeer with the red nose. Rudolph my ass. Daddy wouldn't even let me keep the candy cane I got handed, by some kid in a Santa hat, even after all that mayhem I went through. I was the most upset about that.

"Nor the Christmas reading of _'Twas the Night Before Christmas_ at the library," Uncle Dally adds. "He was a wiggle worm."

Who can sit for that Lord of the Rings marathon? I'm not a fucking statue. Daddy knows I have the attention span of a gnat. Papa always says so. Daddy's fault.

"He did enjoy the Christmas baking he did with Mr. Winchester," Michael points out, trying to be helpful.

Papa glares at him. "Children are seen and not heard. Speak when you are spoken to, young man."

"Yes, sir." Michael looks at his hands.

I would too if Papa looked at me like that. Wait. _Cookies._ I can say that now and I never showed Papa. That will cheer him up. I take my soother out. "Cook, cook-kee," I say to Papa, smiling, proud of myself then pop my soother back in. I did like all the special Deanbreads and gingerDeans we made. I ate a lot of icing that day and enjoyed decorating the gingerDean house I keep trying to pick the candies off of, but that white fucking icing dries like cement. Speaking of, I reach toward my little house sitting on the counter, close to where Papa's standing with me in his arms, officially distracted from whatever the grown-ups are talking about.

Papa, probably just glad I've decided not to cry, sits me on the counter in front of my little gingerDean house and I immediately get to work, trying to pull stuff off. Dally and Michael, who know I'm not supposed to play with the gingerDean house, don't say anything. Michael, because he was pretty much told to shut his pie-hole and Uncle Dal, likely because of the thunderstorm on Papa's face. Papa's even too preoccupied to gush over my new word, which I suddenly couldn't care less about. I've got to get this gumdrop off before Daddy comes back.

"We didn't know Castiel. We can take the tree back," Gramma says.

"We will not Claire. I searched the high heavens for that tree."

Papa sighs from behind me. "Dallas? You mind watching him a minute? I'll go speak to Sam and we'll decide the fate of that tree in our home." Papa has spoken. For everyone's benefit, but mostly Grampa I think. It's a voice I know even Grampa won't argue with. Uncle Dal replaces Papa behind me and Papa leaves the room. I'm too busy to notice really. I've got my sights on this green gumdrop and I think if I just pull hard enough, I'll be sucking on its sugary goodness in no time.

**

"Sam? Baby?" He's crying in Dean's nursery. It's not like the kind of crying like when we had sex moments earlier, it's the kind of Sam crying that breaks my heart. I'll do anything he needs to make it stop.

He wipes his eyes. "Sorry Cassy. I didn't mean to—"

"C'mere." I pull him up from Dean's rocking chair and to me. "It's okay Baby. I understand why you're upset. I know you were looking forward." Which is the understatement of the year.

"Well, he hasn't liked anything we've done for Christmas, so far. I've been trying to make it so special for him Cas. I keep striking out, but he was excited about the tree, I know he was."

"That's not true he hasn't like anything. I was told he liked cookie baking day." I cringe, glad Sam can't see my face, since his head in my shoulder, at having to use Michael's interjection, the one I told him off for. But at the time, I was trying to show my parents why Sam might be upset. I needed all the support I could get. Michael's two cents were counterproductive.

"Yeah, he did like that." Sam pulls back to give me a watery smile. _Worth eating crow._

"And do you think it's possible your expectations are just a bit high for our eighteen-month-old?" I can't believe I'm having to point this out to Sam, _me_ , the one with almost no kid experience, to the kid expert of the Universe, but Sam's over excited with this being Dean's, _his_ little boy's first Christmas with us. His only child.

"I know I am Cas, but this one was going to work out. I know it was…"

"And if it didn't, back up plan was Daddy's special hot chocolate?" In other words, sugar, the sure fire way to win our little boy's heart.

"Yeah," he admits. "So maybe I wasn't a hundred percent sure, but I was pretty sure."

I push his hair back and wipe his tears with my knuckles. "We'll still go. I'll tell my parents we're not keeping the tree. It's simple as that, Baby."

"Thanks Cassy, but didn't you see the look on his little face? He wasn't even that excited about the cookies. He _likes_ that tree. We can't get rid of it. I can't do that to him."

"He's a year and a half, distract him with that little house full of candy he seems to like playing with so much, he'll forget all about it." I have learned that distraction is the best weapon you have against a busy toddler.

Sam's panic level rises again. "What? House full of… Cas, you didn't let him play with the gingerbread house, did you? He's not supposed to have that. Those candies were just for playing, not eating. I bought them from the bulk section, they're not even organic; loaded with HFSC."

High fructose corn syrup. Fuck. That stuff might as well be the devil himself; it is in our home, according to Sam.

I pet his hair some more. "That's not important right now. How about this? You go wash your face then come join us in the kitchen." _While I keep Dean from eating that house._ "We'll keep the tree my parents bought and we'll get Dean a second tree he picks for himself—one you pick together."

"We don't need two trees Cassy."

But I can tell he likes the idea by the smile in his eyes. "Too bad. I've decided. Now go wash your face."

"Yes, sir."

**

Michael's standing behind my son when I return, on a step stool. Michael is tall for his age, but we have tall, Sam height counters. Dallas is busy making coffee and tea for my parents. Dean's still working away at one particular gumdrop, thank the good Lord. Doesn't look like he's eaten anything. This tree fiasco is fixable, we have enough room for as many trees as Sam and Dean want, but if Dean ingests that gumdrop, Sam would have a fit even I couldn't calm.

Michael watches him lazily, like he could do it forever. _My son is his whole world._ A truth that makes me angry when I know it shouldn't. "Why didn't you tell me Dean couldn't have this?" I hiss at him, angrily, so my parents can't hear.

"Because children are seen and not heard sir," he says. "They speak only when spoken to."

I've got to give him credit. There's no trace of malice in his voice, even though I'm sure his malicious thoughts of me are aplenty. I snatch the house away from Dean, a bit panicked he will get something off it. I wince for the inevitable scream. "Hey! Papa! Mine!"

"No," I tell him sternly. "Papa shouldn't have let you play with this. It's yuck."

"Dean's," he tells me, complete with adorable pouty-face, as I dust sugar off his palms.

"No," I repeat, still with zero idea how to make a toddler understand. I keep it simple. "Is not for Deans."

I'm surprised when he doesn’t cry. Sure, I'm getting the pouty-face and I think a little bit of the stink-eye, but no crying. Something tells me he expected this, maybe remembering his Daddy telling him not to touch? It's times like these when I'm not sure if toddlers have the capacity for such things, or if this is the last vestiges of old Dean. Even Sam is often unsure and I remember, we just treat him as our Dean, learn about _him,_ remember what he responds to and act accordingly. Whatever the reason, I'm glad he's not freaking.

"Michael, will you attire him for our outing? We're leaving in ten minutes." Dally was meant to, but we were side-tracked. Michael looks at me shocked. It's my way of apologizing, for being short with him earlier, as much of an apology as he'll get from me.

"Y-yes, sir."

He begins to awkwardly lift Dean from the counter, he's strong I've noticed, it makes me wonder, but their sizes make the particular task awkward. I help them, putting my arms under Dean's armpits and place him on the ground. "You be a good boy for Michael."

Michael takes his hand. "I told you, you weren't supposed to play with that," I hear him say as they walk away.


	29. TIME STAMP: Baby Winchester's First Christmas (4)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last two parts melded into one chapter. 
> 
> So you're not disappointed, I'll warn you now, this only accounts up to Christmas Eve. I enjoyed writing every single word of this, until I tired to make myself conjure up Christmas Day and it just wouldn't come. If it ever comes, perhaps I'll add it, but for now, this is it!

"It's cold outside, you need to wear these."

"No."

The baby is frustrating. Not that he was anymore obedient before, but his 'baby' was somehow melded with a modicum of common sense, reasoning was easier, now it comes and it goes. I struggle. Fight it. Refuse to infantilize him…. most of the time.

And I shouldn't feel like I'm losing him. That's ridiculous. If anything he becomes more dependent and I quite enjoy doing everything for him. I'm his willing personal servant. Is he hungry? Sleepy? Does he need a bath? A new shirt? Are his shoes full of rocks and dirt? (often) May I help you tie your shoes Mr. Baby? Get you more fresh juice? Anything he needs I'm ready. I anticipate. Feel lucky that it's me who gets to be at his beck and call.

Still I sense the change and I'm scared. It won't change our bond. I am his forever, but what if he doesn't want me? He'll turn into a new person, one that doesn't want me.

So I _try_ to show him my softer side. I practice and fail at it, but I keep trying. Keep practicing and hope I get it one day.

Dean's not the only one I have to impress.

There's what he wants me to be for him, what his daddy wants…and then there's Castiel Winchester. If I fuck up with him, I'm out.

"You're wearing the mittens," I say stuffing his hand in anyway and he starts to cry and it breaks my cold heart. See what I mean? Frustrating. He does that now. He cried before, sure, but it took more than, well, _every little thing._ I have to harden myself to his crying. He needs the mitts. He's liable to get frostbite. It's unusually cold for this climate.

"Nooo…" His soother falls out, I catch it and stuff it in my pocket. He's full on crying as I stuff his other hand into the mitt, moving faster, but a lot more gentle than I had with the other. "Myc… Miiiine…"

He's trying to say my name. I make my voice soft, before Mama Bear comes to see why his cub is crying, or worse, Papa bear. "Shh, I'm yours anyway. Might as well call me mine," I say, like it's a secret I share with the baby, like 'Dean' might not hear. "There. We must keep your hands warm, so your little fingers don't fall off." After I'm done, I fetch the soother from my pocket, he leans forward and takes it from me, already soothed by my 'gentle' voice.

I sit him on the steps and have to lean down to lace on his boots, as he sniffles behind his soother in cry-aftermath. There's no snow, but we're heading to some filthy, farm. Better to wear boots to combat anything he might encounter there. He stares, watching me the whole time; curious, like a pup, like the small child he's becoming. He doesn't even wipe his eyes like a bigger human would, so I do it for him. "See? Crying about nothing."

He begins inching himself off the step, then lifts his arms up wanting to be carried. _Some things never change._ "All right, all right I'll carry you if you're going to be lazy as usual. Let me get my stuff on."

But he's impatient and tugs at my leg, so I have to hastily throw on my jacket and my own boots for the farm. Papa Winchester walks in, just as I'm about to pick Dean up, coming to fetch his own coat. I'm surprised when he doesn't chose the trench coat he's famous for, but a blue and black checkered, Mackinaw. He's transformed from high-powered, rifle selling billionaire, to Canadian Lumberjack. Somehow, he fits both parts. I pick up Dean. He looks me over. "Don't be ridiculous Michael. You can't go wearing that, it's a farm, not an upscale restaurant."

 _Yeah, because the trees are going to care what I'm wearing._ Plus, it's not his business if I muddy what I wear. But he's my ticket to Dean, like it or not, so I must do as he says. Whatever he says. Strict as he is, he's cake compared to my father. "Yes, sir. What would you like for me to wear?"

"Go on up and ask Sam for something. There's plenty from when Dean was your size. You can leave Dean, I'll load him in the vehicle. "

"Yes, sir." The man's never raised a hand to me, yet there's the occasional tremble through my body when he speaks. He may be cake compared to my father, but with those eyes, he's a close second. My current size doesn't help. If that's not enough, always remember, I've been poisoned by Modlenol too and I've learned there's some truth to what my father says about 'growing up.' It forces you to look at adults as bigger than you, in charge; you have particular deference for them as you 'grow up' depending. I move to put Dean down, but he immediately complains.

"No. No. Mine, Papa. Mine!"

 _How much do you think that endears me to Papa Winchester?_ He examines us both crossly and rolls his eyes. "I've had enough drama for one day. Fine. Take him with you. Hurry up. I want the three of you out the door and in the SUV in five minutes."

 _He's the one fussed about my attire._ "Yes, sir."

**

Whatever happened, I'll never know, but finally, all of us are loaded in the big car, even Gramma and Grampa and we go tree hunting.

What Michael's got me dressed in is fucking overkill, I'm sure, until we get outside. It's cold. I heard Grampa say, "It's colder than a witch's tit." Still, I hate wearing mitts and to make matters worse, Papa pulled my hood up over my head, afraid my ears would get cold. Him and Michael are worrywarts. At least he's wearing something he doesn't like too. Papa made him change and Daddy dressed him in a grey, zip up hoody, with a black puffy vest over top; two things he hates. He stewed beside me the whole drive. We had to drive a long time to get here, but we're here. Pala's with us too and I find out she's got an important job. Daddy brought my wagon and he says she'll pull me in it later. For now, he pulls it.

The tree-hunting place is a cool farm. There are barnyard animals, like sheep, goats, pigs and cows. The chickens are the funniest. Their heads peck as they walk and look interesting. I'm free, so I run off after one hoping to catch it, but they're fucking fast. Daddy thinks I'm funny. Pala barks at me, wanting to join in, but can't because she's on her leash, Papa in command. "You're supposed to be holding my hand," Michael scolds, ruining all my fun as he catches up with me. He didn't expect me to take off, so I got a bit of a head start. _Not even Papa's upset. I don't know why he is._

I refuse to hold his hand and keep chasing the chicken; fall in the dirt several times. He has to pick me up over and over, dust the dirt from my pants and have me pat my mitts together, only to have to watch me chase the chicken again. Everyone's happy though. They watch me and Daddy gets pictures of me chasing the chicken.

After the chicken, there's a girl holding a rabbit I want to touch. I tug on Michael's hand. "What now?"

I point, since I can neither say, nor sign rabbit. I could make a sorry attempt, but I'd rather not. Michael understands. "Ew. _Forget_ it. Those are practically vermin. Rodents. You're not touching _that._ "

Fuck that. If I have to involve Daddy, I will. I cry on command now and I do.

"Dean Bean, sweetheart, what's wrong?" I point to the rabbit.

Michael glares at me.

"I'm sure she'll let you pet the bunny, c'mon. Daddy will take you."

Bingo. Daddy'll let me do just about anything I want, except drink the hot chocolate they have here, since it's the kind from the package; he assured me he'll be making his special recipe when we get home.

"But Mr. Winchester, he could get rabies."

"I'm sure that's not going to happen Michael, I doubt this rabbit has rabies, it's far too docile." Michael's been politely told by Daddy, he crosses his arms, giving up. "Excuse me sweetheart, this is Dean. He'd like to pet the bunny, that okay?"

She nods and instructs me to get closer. I think she's one of the kids who lives on this farm, she looks like she knows what she's doing with the rabbit. "This is Chester," she says. "He likes kids and would love for you to pet him."

By the way the rabbit cringes, eyes wide in terror and rapid breath, I'm not so sure, but Daddy takes my mitt off and I reach out to touch him. Michael looks like he's watching a train wreck, but also carefully, in case he has to step in, should the rabbit attack. Chester is like me. I'm a Chester too. A Winchester.

His fur is soft and I can feel his heart going thump, thump, thump and I smoosh my hand around. I look up and smile at the big kid, as a thank you then to Daddy to tell him I liked that.

By this point, Michael's fished wet wipes out of the diaper bag, he quickly snatches my hand up before I can touch my face he says, to sterilize it.

"All right, all right, Michael. I think it's time to pick a tree anyway."

"I feel bamboozled," he complains. "When you said 'tree farm,' that was bad enough. I didn't realize animals would be here too." He stuffs my hand back in its mitt, muttering curses under his breath, so Daddy won't hear.

We head to a large roped off section covered in trees and lights. It's just starting to get dark; the lights begin to twinkle. There's Christmas music playing and a man in a toque, sitting in a chair who takes our ticket, the one that says we paid for a tree.

Michael lets Daddy take my hand. I don't think Michael's all that excited about tree hunting, but Daddy is. He's gone on and on about trees for decades. It's hard for Daddy to hold my hand, since I'm so little and he's so big, but he always does it anyway crouching like the Hunchback of Norte Dame; his back probably hurts, but he never complains. It would be far easier for him just to carry me, but he knows I like to walk sometimes. Daddy's great like that. "Pick any tree you want Dean Bean."

Excited, I pull him along through the rows upon rows of pines. It's not too busy, but there are other kids and grownups inside, racing around, trying to find the best tree. There are all different sizes to choose from too. Some are bigger than Daddy and others, not much taller than me.

The others come with us, but hang back, so it feels like it's just Daddy and me. "How about that one sweetheart?"

Daddy points at this tree and that tree asking me if it's the one I want, but none of them are quite right. What am I looking for? Fucked if I know, I just know, I'll know it when I see it. We walk further into the farmed forest. Daddy explains about the different kinds of pine trees, but I'm not really paying attention, just looking around. God. I really am a baby now. The pretty needles on the tree are more interesting than everything else, it's like I'm seeing them with brand new eyes. _My whole life is from brand new eyes._

We reach a whole section of mini-pines, the ones not much taller than me. I swear to Christ they put these here for babies like me and it worked; I love them. Daddy's saying they're some sort of human influenced hybrid, because they're full grown pines, but only just past my height and won't grow any taller. I don't care what it is; I want it. I point. "Dat."

"That one? The little one?"

"Yeah, Daddy." Like me Daddy. _And it's new, also like me._ I don't know how much longer I'll have hold of my old life, or how much I'll remember; it's pretty safe to say it's on its way out. Already the 'memories' confuse my infant brain and turn them into nightmares.

I think Daddy gets it. He always gets me. "Looks like we found ourselves a tree. Get the axe Papa!" he hollers.

Axe? Cool.

**

Pala proudly pulls the wagon attached by the reigns Daddy rigged up, the long handle bent back so Michael can steer, I'm in the front, my small tree in the back. Big smile on my face and Daddy's too. Daddy decided it's time for his special hot chocolate, since Uncle Dal's right, it is getting really cold. He's especially cold, right along with Gramma and Grampa. So we make for home, everything as it should be. 

Christmas Eve Part V

After all that fuss over the tree, it didn't take more than four days for the baby to get banned from said trees. If you ask Papa, Daddy, Uncle Dal and Michael what did it, it was five broken ornaments, too many needles tracked all over by a boy and his dog and two near misses with the big tree falling over. I like the fucking trees, okay? I liked lying under the tree, staring up at the lights and knocking the ornaments around. They're fucking shiny and attractive. Sue me.

Now, they both sit behind a baby gate fortress Papa built, side by side. I stand behind the gate and look longingly at both trees. "No," Daddy says. "Don't touch." He's wrapping a present for Harlow. If he doesn't want me touching the tree, he should stop making it so damn attractive by adding presents.

"No," I say pointing to the tree, to demonstrate my understanding.

"That's right. Good boy. No," Daddy says.

"What's going on in here?" Papa asks. He says he's off work, but he's still wearing his long-sleeved button up shirt. He does have the sleeves rolled up, but shouldn't he wear something more comfortable? I like the fleece, snowman onsie Daddy put on me today. It's soft and cozy. It's also Christmas holiday outfit number twenty-four.

"No," I tell Papa seriously, showing him I'm not going to try to touch the tree, like I showed Daddy. Even though, yeah, I want to, it smells so good. I especially don't want Papa to think I'm trying to touch it. The second time the tree almost fell, after I'd already been told several times not to play with it, it almost fell on me. Papa was mad. He said, "I ought to give your bum a spank, Dean Winchester." He didn't, but I'm pretty sure he was close to for that, I could tell by the look in his eyes. He has a similar look in his eyes now and I think he's misunderstood me.

"I think someone should come with Papa." He's not talking to me, but to Daddy, even though he's talking _about_ me. He scoops me up. _I wasn't going to try touching…well maybe just a little…_

I don’t want him to be upset with me. I try the word I've been working on. "Eeee," I say and point. God dammit. It's just not going to happen this Christmas.

He gets what I'm saying, but not in context. "No tree. Dean doesn't touch. The tree almost squashed my Dean and gave Papa a heart attack." He's stern. His voice makes me hide into him. Papa fixes my hair behind my ears. "I'll take him to play, Baby, and away from temptation, while you finish in here.

Papa bundles me up and takes me outside, putting pants over the legs of my white onsie, so it doesn't get too dirty. We play for a bit by ourselves until Daddy joins us. He looks Winter fresh, in jeans, a navy blue fitted hoodie, checkered scarf and white toque. "Hey, are my boys having fun without me?" Daddy pouts.

Daddy. I freeze for a second and do this weird thing I can't explain. Sometimes seeing Daddy makes me cry, but it's this weird reverse cry. Like, as if I forgot that he wasn't with me, just for a second and him showing up reminds me of that fact. The crying is because he wasn't with me, but thing is, he is with me, so why the fuck am I crying? Fucked if I know, but I am.

I'm snatched up by Daddy and he's hugging me close. "Daddy's here Dean Bean. Right here. Can you and Papa show me the slide?"

Slide? Now I'm on a mission for the slide…

The three of us play and it's fun. We don't get to do this often. Just the three of us and well, _the three of us._ Usually, I'm with one parent or the other.

Daddy chases me to Papa, over the bridge and Papa grabs me up and swings me around, planting me by the top of the slide. Daddy's fast, already having jumped off the playground and has run to the bottom of the slide, Papa encourages me to slide down to him. I do. We run in the rocks, they push me on the swing, laughing at stuff together, some of it their own inside jokes, some of it about the failed Merry Dean Christmas attempts that have already become fond memories for them; things I'm sure will come back to haunt me when I'm a teen. Daddy pushes the swing, then Papa pushes the swing, they continue in that pattern; I can tell they're smiling at each other behind me. _We're a fucking Hallmark commercial._ If only they knew I just want this. I don't need fancy Christmas activities, or anything else.

**

"Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house—"

"Oh sure, now you'll sit and listen to the story, when Michael reads it to you," Uncle Dal says.

"Believe me. Just to get him seated was a logistical nightmare I don't want to repeat."

First, we tried to the rocking chair. Sometimes reading in the rocking chair works for us, and sometimes it doesn't. Tonight, I couldn't squish into him just right. I complained. So we moved to the floor. That's where I tried laying my head in his lap. No go. Michael's legs are too boney and were uncomfortable. I resorted to curling under his arm and squishing a foot into his leg.

"I just came to say goodnight."

Michael's face twists in displeasure, Uncle Dal laughs. "Don't worry Michael, I won't disrupt the fine tunin' you've done on the seatin' arrangement."

What about my opinion? I want to snuggle for a minute with Uncle Dal, so I get up, ignoring Michael's complaints and run to him. Sometimes when he picks me up, he throws me a safe, Daddy-approved distance, up in the air, before he snuggles me to him, but he doesn't now, probably afraid to rile me up before bed. He lifts me, squeezes me, _so_ tight and kisses my head. Uncle Dal's a young guy, I know that, but he's still big to me and not just in size. Everyone is now, I guess, but Uncle Dal's got this big personality you feel more than you see, 'cause he so quiet. He laughs a lot though and he can make me laugh too. Hard. He hasn't stayed with us very long, but it already feels like forever. Uncle Dal's so naturally cozy, his swaying me back and forth is starting to put me to sleep.

"Aww, my little half-pint, so sleepy." He kisses my head again. Knowing better than to put me straight in my crib, he places me beside Michael, arranging me like I was before, foot and all. "There you go, Michael, he's all yours." He leaves.

"He's right, you're half asleep already. Let's just put you in bed," Michael says closing the book. "You're not going to make it past two pages tops."

I suck my soother at him with big eyes, hoping he'll change his mind, but once Michael makes decisions, for my benefit, he won't budge even if I cry. "None of that. C'mon. I'll rock you."

I follow him back to the rocking chair and climb up into his lap. Without the book, it works and I can cuddle into him better. My eyes droop quickly, but before I nod off I hear, "Sweet dreams little duck."

**

I try to keep the watching-him-while-he-sleeps to a minimum, I don't want to end up labeled as that depressed vampire from Twilight. But I did something I have to think about—I slipped up. I didn't mean to do it. The endearment fell out easily. I can't be blamed for it, is what I decide. It's Daddy Winchester's fault for sure. Him and his _ridiculous_ overused, nicknames. Now I've been brainwashed. Affected. Problem is, I like it. He is my little duck; following me everywhere.

I watch him for just a second more. He even breathes like babies do. But I think Dean's a new sort of baby. Looks like a regular baby. Acts like one. Still not _quite_ one.

Whatever he is, I'm his. I hope he'll keep me.

THE END


	30. TIME STAMP: A DAY IN THE LIFE (1)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Dear Readers: Even if you hate my A/Ns, please read this one, or some things may not make sense to you going forward.**
> 
> One dear reader, she knows who she is ;) pointed something out to me in the last chapter of GUW, it was the sort of thing that makes Mock think. "Mock, you haven't spanked Dally yet..." And oh my! She's right! This was an oversight that needs correcting, else I'm losing my touch. She didn't know this would happen, but it spurred an entire project, one I've been working on for near a week now (and it's been lots of fun!)
> 
> I began this series January of 2015, which means I've been writing it a year and a half now, we're at almost 700K for this series. In this time, I've gotten to know the characters so much better than I had; especially Dally who was supposed to be a side character, but who now has a starring role. A couple of small little things I'd written about him just wouldn't make sense, now that I know them so well and these things bother me, which I know makes me crazy, but I hope my crazy will benefit you. 
> 
> SO, as is done in stories, edits and rewrites happen all the time to raw works, which I very much consider theses, so I feel it completely a "legal" thing to go back and make some changes and edits. Though, it didn't even take any rewriting. I've changed nothing integral to the story, **nor have I changed any main premise.** With just a few tweaks, I've made what follows possible... in other words, I pretty much just changed _when_ Dallas gets spanked. LOL 
> 
> Many of you out there have photographic memories, which impresses me greatly, since much of the time, I can't remember minor details from my own story (or even what I ate for dinner last night) as well as you can, which is the reason I'm pointing this out at all. I had previously stated that Cas had not spanked Dally before GUW, but in considering this, that just can't be possible. Dallas is so mature in my head, even I forget how young he was when he first came to live with Sam and Cas. So, that is no longer. 
> 
> Another reader pointed out another oversight, this one a timeline error, which I have also fixed. This having to do with when TW household learns of Michael's angel status. In the Christmas episode I wrote just after my surgery, I wrote it as if they all knew, but the reader was RIGHT, they shouldn't have known. I fixed the Christmas Time Stamp to reflect that. 
> 
> In fact, I've gone through almost the whole series and created a timeline now, so I should be mostly on track. For any other mistakes, I'll just have to get to them when I can. 
> 
> What follows is the most up to date "stuff" on these guys in terms of Before WW. I hope you like it. I really enjoyed writing this, I needed all the things in here...

"Well don't look at me, you're the one who can't use a spoon without getting more than a speck in your mouth."

That can only be Michael. Only Michael says shit like that to me. Asshole. I throw Tigger at him. "No. Dean does it."

He scowls, picks him up and places him on the table, _not_ on my highchair tray like he's supposed to. I know he knows that game. "Here, at least allow me to feed you."

Whether I want him to or not, he snatches the spoon Daddy gave me, right out of my fucking hand and spoons the applesauce that Daddy makes for me (which is fucking delicious) up to my mouth. Except I have a new super power and I'm willing to fucking use it. I start crying. And loud. Yes I'm manipulating, but the more fucked up thing, I mean it, in that I can _feel_ the upset of all of it to the point I don't know how much I'm manipulating and how much I'm plain upset about the 'issue' at hand.

That's another thing. The things that are now 'issues' in my life. Case and point.

My crying alerts Daddy who seems to have the super-sonic ability to hear my cry from anywhere and even pick it out from a sea of other toddlers. "What did you do Michael?" Daddy says.

"Me? I'm trying to nourish him. With the way you allow him to spoon-feed himself, if it can be called that, he'll starve to death." Michael crosses his arms and has the nerve to glare at Daddy.

Daddy sighs. "You two are going to be the death of me. I'm not going to let him starve Michael; I promise you. I've got his real breakfast coming, that's just to keep him busy. That enough for you?"

He continues to glare in silence.

"If I don't allow him to practice, he won't develop his motor skills. Do you still want to be spoon-feeding him when he's sixteen?"

More silent glaring—'cause I could imagine Michael wanting to do that, even when I am bigger.

"Okay, you've got no perspective. Michael, give him the spoon back and if you can't watch, go to the living room until after breakfast." Daddy lays down the law.

Michael does give me the spoon back (soon as I have it I stop crying), but he's annoyed and not about to take his eyes off me while I eat. "And if he chokes allow _you_ to rescue him? No, no. Absolutely not. I will remain right here, even if I have to bear the sight of this massacre."

Daddy looks him up and down. "When you going to tell us, Sur?"

They've left Michael alone based on his devotion to me, even though they _know_ he's not human, but they've been putting pressure on him. Michael balls his fists (he's particularly grouchy this morning) and huffs. "I told you, soon."

Daddy looks concerned now, so he leaves it, but he does smooth a hand through Michael's hair (which you can imagine how much he loves) and hands him a cloth. "So you know there's always a way to fix a mess, sugar plum."

Michael accepts the cloth. " _Don't_ , I mean, I would appreciate it, if you would refrain from your usual diatribe of cutesy nicknames with me, sir." Daddy and him are working on how he's supposed to talk to Daddy. He was all yes sirs and no sirs before, but he seems to slip up with Daddy, now. I think he's more comfortable.

Daddy laughs. "Lordy Bee Michael, you make it sound like I'm inflicting psychological damage. If you want to stick around here, you'll just have to find a way to survive it I'm afraid."

Michael doesn't respond and I notice that Daddy having given him the cloth has relaxed him, some. I'm sure the verdict's still out for him, on whether or not I'm going to faint from too little nourishment. I return to spooning applesauce into my mouth. I won't tell him, but he's right, I have trouble with this fucking thing and find it way easier to use my hands (and I do) but I try because I like when Daddy tells me what a good job I'm doing.

But after awhile, Michael looks so fucking upset, that I pass the spoon to him for a turn, _just_ a turn. I fucking want turns too. "Uh?"

His eyes pop up to Daddy, who smiles at him, so he takes the spoon from me helps me with a few bites of applesauce. Everyone's happy and he minds less when I demand my spoon back, since he got a few bites in me.

Then Papa storms in. He's not quite as happy as we are; he looks stressed and that makes Daddy stressed. I've already seen how important Papa's happiness is to Daddy and vice versa. Daddy'll want to help Papa and I do too.

"You're here, again?" Papa says to Michael.

Michael doesn't know what to say, so I help out. "Mine." That should clear it up.

It does take Papa's attention away from Michael, but brings it onto me, and therefore Daddy. "Can someone feed him properly?" Someone is Daddy. "There's food everywhere. _Samuel._ " Papa's a bit like a whirlwind this morning.

"Papa, does it," I say holding out the spoon for Papa. I don't mind if he helps me. But Papa's too busy to hear me right now.

"I'll feed him right now, Cassy. Do you have time for breakfast? Want something to go?"

In the midst of this, Pala runs over to greet Papa, who has usually got nice words and a head pat for her, but today, she's just a nuisance. "Down girl, or you're going outside. I'll have to send my assistant this morning for breakfast, Sam. I've got too much to—Michael, you've got the cloth _right there,_ wipe his face for pity's sake."

"Yes, sir," he says with clenched teeth. Cleaning me up is probably a relief to Michael. If only Papa knew how much they agree on things.

Uncle Dally whirls in too. His usually calm face looks almost as pinched with stress as Papa's. He grabs a croissant off the plate on the table, and a muffin and thinks he's heading for the door. "Oh no, not you, Sur—you're sitting down to eat. I can't make him, but I can make you."

"But I've got group projects coming out my ying-yang, Sammy."

"And you'll be better working on them with a full stomach. Sit."

Uncle Dallas does, but he's not happy about it.

"You're not over-taxing yourself, are you Dallas?" Papa asks as he arranges papers. He's already got his trench coat on and his shoes.

Uncle Dally winces. "It's busy right now, a lot of projects due, that's all. Midterms start in a few weeks."

"So yes," Papa devises. "Home after school please."

Whoa. Papa's not having it today.

"Yes, sir." 'Cause that's all you say to Papa when he's like this. I can't say 'sir' yet, but I know everyone else does. Uncle Dally runs a hand through his hair, like he might be a bit frustrated and I'm feeling fucking neglected by Papa.

"Papa mad!" I declare, slamming my hand down, showing him I know how to be like he is.

That stops his Papa tirade for a minute, he closes up his brief case and comes over to lift me out of my highchair (fresh and clean thanks to Michael who doesn't get thanked). "Not mad, just low on patience this morning, Kiddo. Sorry, I didn't say good morning. Papa's very busy today." He kisses the top of my head, with a little squeeze and slips me back into my highchair. It's a pretty cheap-ass snuggle, but looks like I made off better than everyone else, so I don't complain.

Daddy makes his way over with food for Uncle Dally and a 'real' plate for me, which he puts on my highchair, so I assume it's fair game. I dig in using my fingers, but somehow forget it's supposed to go into my mouth and now there's ham I'm scrunching in my fingers and onto the highchair tray and onto the floor, which Pala is happy about. " _Sam._ " We all jump a little. That's as close as Papa gets to raising his voice.

"I'm on it, Cas." Daddy swoops in with a fork, takes away my plate and begins feeding me.

"Mmmm," I say and Daddy smiles at me.

"Anything I can do for you today, Cassy? The three of us were planning on a trip to the mall."

Papa thinks for a second, then he looks a bit embarrassed. "I could use a few… personal effects if you don't mind. I mean I could send Shane—"

"Write them down for me real quick, Cas, I'd love to. Dean, Michael and I need a task anyway. I think we're on our own 'till…?" Daddy always includes Michael, Papa doesn't like that much, but I think he accepts that much now, mostly.

"Sorry, Baby. Not sure when I'll be home," he says pulling out some paper from a near by drawer and jotting some thing down. When he's done, he leans over to kiss Daddy, who's in the middle of feeding me. "I'll text you. Dallas, home, study, bed early," he says, then he's out the door and like a fucking hurricane, the wind dies down and the whole fucking room relaxes.

**

Hurricane Cas leaves the building and we're all glad for it. We understand it though and know he'll calm down again—he gets like this when he's insane at work. I feel sorry for James who's probably run off his feet. I wish he'd let me do more than buy him underwear and socks, but if that makes him feel better I'll do it. Now to deal with the rest of the crew.

"Michael thank you for being so good, Sugar. I'm sorry you get the worst of it."

"I can handle one frazzled human, sir." He says that a lot, the _human_ thing. Okay, so we know he's not human, but what is he?

"Dal—"

"Don't apologize, Sammy. It's fine, it's just… there was this thing tonight."

"A school thing?" I'm sure I can get Cas to concede that.

He bites his lip. "Weeell, no actually, well kinda? No. It's our band, we're getting real serious about it and we were gonna hold practice tonight. We haven't been able to because we've been too busy—this is the first in awhile. It's kinda hard for them to have practice without their singer and lead guitarist, not to mention I write a lot of the songs..."

Fudge. I hate saying no to Dally and I know he's sorta hinting at asking me if I'll talk to Cas for him. He doesn’t want to ask me, but he clearly feels bad to have to bail on his friends. "I'm sorry, Dal. There's just no way."

"Yeah I know, it's okay Sammy—I agreed to follow the rules here. I didn't expect it to always be easy."

I'm sure he didn't expect it to be so hard either, it's a lot different here than home. Him being understanding, makes it so much harder. I feel bad. He's always been easy though, even when he was little. Cas is right, I know why he did what he did, Dallas can get lost in school and forget to take care of himself and if he's writing songs too, that's even more reason to step in. "May I be excused please, Sammy?" he asks finishing up his breakfast as I spoon more food into Dean.

"Yeah. Wait! Here!" I put Dean's plate down and grab the lunch I packed for Dally off the counter. "You need to eat, Sur." I kiss his forehead—some habits die-hard. "And look, I'll try talking to Cas, no promises, but I'll do my best."

"I'll eat Sammy, was nice of you to make this for me and thanks, I appreciate you talking to him. See y'all later—bye Michael, half pint." He heads out the door, knowing my chances of undoing Cas's royal decree are next to none and he doesn't mean to, but he's a bit short in his goodbyes letting on, to me at least, (since I've raised the boy) his true feelings about said royal decree.

Dean's already had a chance to get to his food and make a mess and now that ham has dropped on the floor, Pala's interested again and meanders over to clean up. Michael's phone rings. "Hello, sir." Then quiet for a time. His face is serious. I've seen him on calls with his father before; I get the worst feeling in my stomach. I don't think things are good at home. I know they're not, but I can't get him to tell us what he is, let alone go into that. I've been watching too much Hemlock Grove and have visions of him being an Upir or something; wouldn't be so bad to have one of those on Dean's side.

"I'll be right there, sir," he finally says and doesn't look good. "I've got to go, immediately Mr. Winchester. I'm sorry."

He was supposed to come with us to the Mall. "Don't be Michael, do you need a ride?"

He shakes his head. "Tom is outside for me."

Oh right. Tom. _'That's guy's not shady at all.'_ He doesn’t give me a bad feeling, I think he might be good even, but he's simply unknown—he never comes in.

"Goodbye, Dean. I'll see you… I'll see you."

Dean is not impressed. "No! Mine!"

Michael rolls his eyes. "I'm not yours. I'm my father's and I have to go. Stop your pouting, you get to spend the day shopping. It'll be a lot more fun than what I'll be doing."

"No! No! Daddy, no!" he says pointing at Michael, crying, screaming actually. Dean knows I fix everything for him and get him everything he wants, pretty much. He might be just a _little_ spoiled.

"It's okay, Michael just go. I'll handle this. Text me later."

"Text you? We've been over this, I don't need to—"

"Yes you do." I feel like I need to make sure he's okay. Whatever he is, he looks so little and vulnerable. I wish I could keep him here, with us.

"But—"

"Non-negotiable, Michael," I say pulling screaming-Dean out of his high chair.

"This family is impossible. I don't know why I bother!" He storms out leaving the same frothy air as the other two 'top-types.'

Lordy Bee.

"Mine! Mii-hiine!"

"Oh, I know, sweetheart. He'll be back before you know it." I bounce Dean and give him his soother. Pala looks up at us concerned for her boy. After a few minutes, Dean's sniffling and rubbing his face in my shoulder, but he's fine. "C'mon baby boy, let's finish breakfast. It's just you and me! We'll have a Dean and Daddy day." There are lots of Dean and Daddy days. He's probably sick of them.

I place him back in his highchair and think about the day with a strange amount of apprehension, now that Michael's not going to be coming with us. I've gotten pretty used to having a pair of extra hands with me. Sure, I've helped raise a billion Colts, but I always had Mama and Georgia too, I was never _alone,_ I was just a good manager. And Dean seems to equal the attention I'd need for three Colts. _You're being silly Sam Winchester._ Heck, it's even been awhile since it was just Dean and I, like in the beginning. Not that days like this don't come up, they do, but those also seem to be the days _something_ happens. _Nah. You're good._

I pluck his soother out and feed him his breakfast, thinking on how I'm going to 'fix' all the household tops. Sure, Dallas and Michael don't necessarily define themselves as such, but I know which side of the coin they fall on even if they don't. Cas is number one alpha though and it can be hard on other Top, alpha-types, when he thunders in such a big way like that. They all respect him (even Michael) but it doesn't always make it easy. It's up to me to bring balance to the force. "What we gonna do with our boys, huh Dean?"

"Boys," he parrots. "Dean does it," he adds wanting his own fork again. I give him the one from his applesauce bowl that he can inspect while I feed him with the big fork.

Now is the worst time to ask Cas about Dallas. I'll wait 'till the afternoon, when Cas usually takes his lunch break. _If he takes a lunch break today._ Least I know he'll eat at some point, James will make sure. Not much I can plan on doing about Michael until he texts me. _If he texts me._ Ugh. Frustrating. I have fun feeding Dean and enjoy the quiet; Pala waits by my feet for more Dean droppings which she gets occasionally when Dean's got hold of something. It is a lot easier to feed him, but I like him to practice and he's not as bad as Cas, or especially Michael makes him out to be; they just don't like the mess. I do worry about him being behind, since he still is with some things. Sure the doctor moved him ahead to two; Dean's comprehension level is pretty high 'for his age.' It's all the dexterity and talking stuffs where he struggles. In truth, I'm not sure how much the 'practicing' helps. He's been practicing awhile now and sometimes I think Cas is right when he says, it will happen when it happens. He gets annoyed at Dean playing in his food; I try to find a happy medium of both.

When we're done, it's off to change his diaper and clothes. "Don't you look handsome, Dean Bean."

"Han _sum,_ " he says. "Han _sum_ Dean."

"That's right baby boy!" He tries so hard and he was doing well for awhile, but that's the other thing, some of his development seems to have halted and it's why, though we were going to move him out of his highchair, we decided against that. And while part of me worries, I don't mind so much. Selfishly, I love him being my little, little boy and Dean doesn't seem as upset by his whole lack of development as he once was.

Dean giggles and I pick him up. "Let's get shoes."

**

I unload Dean and Tigger from the car and he stands, waiting like a good boy, while I grab his smaller diaper bag out of the back. I decide against the stroller. He probably won't want to use it anyway and we won't be long. Besides, it's so much easier maneuvering in the small store isles without the thing. I can carry him if he gets tired, which shouldn't be for a while yet—we've got time to burn.

I get Dean to help me pick out underwear for his papa, (though of course Cas likes a specific kind, but there's no reason we can't make a game out of it) and socks. We even pick him out a funny pair of socks. That done, we head to some of our other errands, with plans of eating at the Food Court later. I brought food of course, but for a treat, Dean can have a few fries, he'll like that.

We comb through the toy store and I let Dean pick something small. He's got so many toys already, it's the last thing he needs, but he and Tigger have fun with this little green ball (yeah I know, like he needs another green ball) so I cave.

By the time I get us set up in the food court for lunch, even I'm feeling a little tired, but we'll head home after this, he'll fall asleep on the way home and have a good nap. I've got Dean in one of the Food Court's highchairs that Michael hates and I set about mashing an avocado for him and place some other finger foods like pieces of grape and strawberry and cucumber for him. I periodically get him to drink some kefir, which he actually likes, go figure. Guess he really is my kid, even if he also loves some of the other non-Daddy approved fair.

Dean's happy, only rubbing his eyes every now and again, I'm pretty impressed with our trip—nothing crazy happened.

"Well hey there, Sam, Dean!" a familiar voice says.

"Charlie?" I stand up and give her a big hug. It's been busy, or so it seems and we haven't spent the time together we have in past.

Last time we saw them, was for Harlow's birthday, Harlow just turned six. She's such a little girl now. "Hey baby girl," I say, crouching down to hug her.

"No, Daddy!" Dean says being a jealous baby. We all laugh.

"We just ate and were going to head out, but how about a quick coffee?"

I check the time, it's noon. I should text Cas soon if I want to convince him to set Dal free for his band practice and Dallas is probably wanting to know if he can. But I've got thirty minutes. I feel bad saying no to Charlie, since I haven't seen her in awhile. "Sure, I've got about thirty."

"Okay, if you don't mind me leaving Harlow here, I'll go grab coffee for us."

"Thanks Charlie."

Dean is scowling at Harlow from his highchair, but she doesn't seem to notice. "Uncle Sammy, can I try feeding him? I feed my dolly all the time."

Yeah, Dean'll love that. He barely lets Michael feed him. "You know sweetheart, he's going to be fussy pretty soon, I think it's better we wait on it for another time."

Charlie returns with coffee and I let Dean work on feeing himself, while we catch up and confirm the plans to attend the Church's Halloween celebration, we talked about at Harlow's birthday. Dean's going to be Tigger this year, Gramma Winchester's already agreed to help with his costume, since I already did make and attempt, but quit while I was ahead.

It's a good visit, but it goes a little over what I'd planned and Dean is cranky, rubbing his eyes and complaining, which alerts us that it's time to say goodbye. We do, Harlow is excited to see Dean for Halloween.

As soon as they're gone, I pull out my phone, the stress of feeling rushed because I still need to get Dean cleaned up and out of here quick, is building. But it's almost one o'clock, the chances of Dallas having band practice tonight are slipping through the sands of time. I text Cas: _Heya, Cassy. Hope your day got better. Also, how firm were you on Dallas coming home right after school? His band was supposed to practice and they can't without him. Love you, Sam._

It's written like an email, but at least I'm using the text option. That way Cas has a little time to think about it, before he responds. I don't expect an answer promptly, so I begin cleaning up my avocado monster—somehow, avocado managed to get up his nose. It's when I've got Dean all packaged up it hits me, I have to pee really fudging bad. Dang. That coffee went through me. I'm not going to make it home, I have to pee, _now._

This is something I try to avoid at all costs: Going pee in a public place when alone with the toddler. All parents know this nightmare. But there's nothing for it. I look around for Charlie, even though I know she's long gone and I gotta go _now_ of course. I'd probably pee my pants by the time she returned.

Sigh. Okay, it's off to the public restrooms I go. With my bags, diaper bag, Dean and Tigger in tow, I truck off to the family restroom, which of course is occupied. "Daddy!" Dean's tired and starting to cry behind his soother. "G-goin' hoome."

"Oh I know sweetheart. Daddy just has to pee." Really bad too.

A little panicked now, I race into the "men's" restroom. I opt for a stall, thinking I can keep Dean closer to me, without risk of him sticking his hands into the urinals. I hang the bags on the door hook and set an unimpressed Dean down. "I'll be quick, Dean Bean," and pull out my dick, planning on a fast pee. But it turns out to be the longest pee ever, because immediately, Dean squats down and slaps the gross, disgusting, public restroom floor with his Tigger-free hand, to keep himself busy. I can't stop him properly since I'm peeing. "Ew, Dean, stop that!"

I don't often raise my voice with him, so that makes him freeze, but only for a second and he's swinging Tigger around and right into the stream of my pee—I get pee splashed at me and of course, Tigger is pee drenched—"Dean!"

I reach out to grab Tigger, but Dean drops to the floor and crawls under to the next stall, flopping on his back, so his body (feet and legs) is half in my stall and half (upper body and head) is under the other stall. Did I mention how gross and yucky public restroom floors are? Ew. Now he's been rolling in filth. "Hi!" Dean says, which means there's probably someone in the stall next to us, my face flushes with embarrassment and why can't I stop peeing?

"Sorry," I say; all I get is a grunt in reply. I have to reach down (still peeing) to slide Dean out and yank him up by the arm. But now he's near the toilet paper, so he starts fiddling with that and getting toilet paper everywhere, Tigger's on the floor soaking in what's probably (hopefully just) toilet water. Thankfully, I'm finally done peeing—I've never done my pants up so fast. "That was disgusting, Sur." I barely want to touch him, knowing where he's rolled and that's saying something.

He thinks he's funny though. "Dir-tee."

It's hard, but I somehow manage to grab Tigger by his foot, the bags and my naughty two-year-old and head over to the sink, which is wet, so I can't sit him on it. Tigger's already in need of being washed, so I set him down and lift Dean up to at least wash his hands, which often make it to his mouth.

He's pissed off when I try to wash them, we get soap and water everywhere and there's a lot of squealing. He's less happy, when Tigger has to be banished to the dark recesses of the toy bag (it's just a ball in there, I figure that's easy enough to wash) and he cries all the way to the car, which I have to walk to, covered in water, public restroom grime and my own pee and a firm look on my face, which Jensen coined as "Bitch Face," long ago. I can admit it.

Dean cries all the way home, no matter how much I try to hush him and sing to him and just plain chat with him and just as I'm thinking it's just as well, 'cause I'm not putting him down for a nap all grimey, he needs a bath, he does conk out. Crud.

When we're home, I park the car and take a minute to check my phone. Two missed calls from Cas and two texts. The first text says: _Can't talk now, call you when I can._ The second, predictably: _Why aren't you answering my calls, Samuel? Call me when you get this._

I just want to get both Dean and I into a bath as soon as possible, but I know waking him for a bath means he's not going to go back to sleep and he's already touched the car seat, he might as well sleep here a minute. I call Cas. I'm actually so riled right now; I need to hear the confidence in his voice. It's been a crazy morning, not beyond my ability to handle, but this little bathroom episode frazzled me a little. "Sam?"

"Cassy, I'm sorry, I couldn't grab the phone, my hand was on my dick and Dean was running amok and pee and on the floor and now's he's gross and I have to wake him…" I huff looking to Cas to tell me what to do with that.

There's quiet on the other end, then Cas is laughing really hard.

"Cas," I have to whisper-yell. "It was a nightmare."

He laughs into a sigh. "Oh believe me, that sounds like a nightmare. Sorry baby, but better you than me, for Dean's sake. Ahhh, I needed that laugh Baby, thanks. It's been a Hell of a day and it's going to go late. I'm afraid you'll have to eat dinner without me. Sorry."

"It's okay, Cassy, we'll be fine." I am going to have to bathe Dean, the thought of him covered in invisible bathroom film is grossing me out. I'll have a grumpy Dean, but it's nothing I haven't dealt with before. "And the Dally thing?" I chance.

Cas from this morning is back. "Was I somehow unclear this morning?"

"You weren't Cas, but you were focused on work and I just thought—"

"That my judgment was obscured?"

"Well," that doesn't sound good, but, "yeah."

"My only obscurity, was not having the foresight to pull him in sooner. I know he's mature for an eighteen-year-old, but he's still eighteen." I don't point out that he's almost nineteen. "He's being very eighteen right now with how's he's distributing his time, especially if he's making plans like band practice when he's barely getting enough sleep—I see the rings under his eyes. C'mon, Sam, band practice when he's got a bunch of projects due? No. Absolutely not, not under my roof. If he doesn't get it together he's going to be in a lot more nights than tonight."

Well when he puts it that way.

"Sorry, Cas, I… you're right."

"Do I have to call him?"

"No, sir. I'll do it."

"Thanks, Baby. I have to go, we'll talk later."

I get off the phone feeling like I just got a telling off. _And now to wake the sleeping baby._ Dean remains asleep all through me taking him out of the car and all through me taking off my shoes at the entryway. He wakes up when I'm getting him undressed; he's not pissy, but he's sleepy. "Daddy?" he says looking at the running bathwater.

"We're gonna have a bath, you and me, 'cause Dean decided to roll around on the dirty floor."

"Dir-tee, floor?" Dirty is two syllables and floor sounds more like four.

"Yeah, dir-tee floor," I parrot him.  
He rubs his eyes as I plunk him into the warm bath with bubbles and get myself undressed to join him. "Daddy, in dat?"

"Yep, Daddy too."

I wash both our hair and our bodies 'till I feel amply clean and am even able to laugh about it by the time I'm done with us. "You were a silly boy," I say with a poke to his belly.

He giggles.

I dry him off and he's fully awake now. He's not going back to sleep. It's just after two and I realize I haven't broke the news to Dally. Cas is right, but I really don't want to. When Dean's diapered and dressed (I do all of this in nothing but a towel) I text him and tell him apologizing profusely. "C'mon Dean, let's go wash Tigger."

**

Okay, I admit it, it's a bit harder than I thought it would be living with Cas and Sam, but I can't say I'm not better for it; I've learned a lot and I feel a greater pride and confidence than I did before. All the rules are out of love, they're sometimes inconvenient to one's social life, but yeah, all the love. I _am_ pretty beat. This gives me the perfect excuse out of the practice I felt pressured into scheduling in the first place; _shouldn't have_ scheduled in the first place, but at the same time I hate letting people down.

I'm in the Psych Department's café, reading before my next class, when I'm accosted, by a large, Canadian, hockey player. "Hey candy ass," he says straddling me.

"Lay off, Axe," I say, pushing him away. We met in first year. I don't even know what he's doing here, he's so good at hockey, he's likely to get drafted anytime now. And if he's not a hockey player, he's good enough to make it as a musician. He's our drummer and the other half of the song writing team. We get the occasional song from the other two, but it's mostly us. And even if none of that works out for him, he's so smart, he barely has to study, which is why he can afford to harass me. My cheeks flush at him straddling me like that and I think about what Mama would say. He backs off, flips a chair around and sits with the back of it facing forward.

I keep reading.

"You sure are pretty, wanna fuck?"

"Axl," I hiss.

He laughs. "Knew that would get you to look up at me at least. C'mon, talk to me 'till class starts."

"Where are your books? You even plannin' on takin' notes?"

"I love that accent. Gonna take notes in my mind."

My phone buzzes in my pocket, it's Sammy telling me Cas isn't budging. I don't know if I'm relieved or bummed about it. I should tell Axl though. "Well I gotta read this and looks like I gotta cancel on tonight's band practice, sorry Sugar."

"When you say it like that, I'm almost not upset. Why you cancelling?"

He knows I live with Sam and Cas and that they're my 'gatekeepers.' I don't bother finding an excuse. "Cas is worried about me since I've been burning the candle at both ends."

"He's making you cancel practice? We can't practice without you Dal. What if we cut it short?"

If Sam's texting me, that means he's already asked Cas, which I know was a risk he took willingly for me, likely got a decent telling off, asking again is a bad idea. "That's not gonna work. I have to go straight home after school."

"Go straight home? You're almost nineteen, Dal."

I shake my head at him. Age doesn't matter in Cas and Sam's house and I willing agreed to follow the rules, I'm not going back on that. Especially since their way… well I like it, it makes a lot of sense. It fascinates me. I'm always asking questions. It's easy to discard it when it's inconvenient, as it is now, but it's times like these the Winchester Way was built for.

"Do they know what time school ends?"

"No."

"So let's just move practice up, have it in a room here and keep it short," he says like it's what we're doing and not a question. And it's times like these, when I'm feeling trampled, something in me wants to rise up and take hold of the situation, whirring out of control. Axl is very out of control in general. "I call everyone, get everything together. I don't need to go to this class. Matter of fact, neither of us need to go to our last class—"

"Hold it right there cowboy, I'm not skippin' class." My parents are paying good money for me to go to school. I do tend to get roped in by him, but there's only so far I'll go.

"Okay, fine let's keep it to after last class. I'll have everything set up, we won't even leave the school grounds and we'll keep it short."

_Cas is working late tonight…_

"C'mon Dallas, we need you—we can't practice without you."

**

It's six o'clock and then it's seven. Cas will be home the Lord knows when, I fed Dean ages ago, but waited on Dally for myself. I felt so bad over him having to cancel his practice, even if it was for his own good, I thought he might like to have company while he ate. But here it is, an hour after he said he'd be home and I'm going a little out of my mind. He gets home from school at all different times, since he's got so darn many group presentations and papers he usually has to stay at school for, but he's supposed to let us know when he's going to be home, last I heard from him was after I text him earlier today. He told me he'd be home by six. Like a Mama hen, I've already text him a _"where the heck are you?"_ twice with no answer. I'm picturing Mama and Daddy _and_ Cas killing me when they find out I've lost him.

Then there's Dean. He's been a fusspot all afternoon. He's tired, so tired, but I'm a mean Daddy making him stay up 'till his bedtime, because I know how he gets when his schedule's too thrown off, though he's so exhausted looking, I'm considering putting him down a little earlier. Currently, he's not too bad, he's playing with the dog, which is a delicate thing. Occasionally, she still scares him without meaning to.

I also haven't heard from Michael.

This day went from me thinking I was going to have to sort out three tops, to, I think someone's going to have to sort me out from all their mania.

It's so unlike Dally to not show when he says he's going to, that I've been waiting 'till I hear word from him, but I think I should just go ahead and call Cas now. I'm about to call Cas, when I hear someone at the front door, I snatch up Dean and run. "Dally, Lordy Bee, I thought… sweet Jesus just c'mere."

I hug him close with Dean still in my arms, Dean's excited to see his favorite Uncle. "Dal." He's cute when he says Dal. The l's kinda sound like lulls. Pala who followed us is barking at him 'till I let go and he pats her. "Hey girl, it's just me."

All I have to do is take one look over of him and I know he's guilty of something, it's time to pull it together. Cas may be the head of this house, but when he's not here, I'm in charge. "Where were you, Dallas, Colt?"

He cringes. "I, I'm sorry, Sammy."

"You went, didn't you? After Cas told you to come straight home after school? Dallas…"

"I know Sammy. I, I don't know what to say."

"Well think of something quick, Cas is gonna kill you." And I’m going to let him. "Not even a text."

He runs a hand through his wavy blonde hair. "I know, but when I saw the time, I just raced home. I deserve whatever punishment Cas decides on, it was a bad idea from the start," he says removing his boots. Dean squirms to get down and I let him. He runs over to the shoes, "Shoes, Daddy," and starts playing in the shoes. I smile at Dean, but then turn a frown toward Dally.

"This isn't like you, Dal. What happened?"

"Look, I did come straight home from school, I just stayed a little longer than classes. It was only supposed to be an hour, but Axl, distracted me," he says blushing a little.

I don't even want to know what that means and I can't believe what I'm hearing, but I have to stop Dean from throwing shoes at the dog. "Dean, no. We don't throw shoes at Pala." When I take the shoes from him, he screams bloody murder. "Okay, it's time for someone to go to bed. Dallas, there's dinner for you, I'll come eat with you in a minute."

He nods. He's quiet. He really is sorry—it's hard to be hard on Dallas. He's prone to this stuff so rarely, but even in the Colt house, there would have been consequences for this. Just hearing the name 'Axl' makes my gut, parenting instinct itch to 'blame Axl,' but unless Axl held a gun to Dal's head, Dal's his own person and good about making his own decisions. This one's on Dallas.

Dal slinks off and I take a screaming Dean upstairs. "No Daddy. Nooo! Shoooes! Miine!"

Years from now, we're all going to laugh at this night, I just know it, but right now, it seems like the biggest deal in the world. "I know sweetheart, they're your shoes, we'll play with them tomorrow."

Dean's already in his pajamas, so I get him interested in a story about bugs. He's so tired, that he's out after a few minutes of rocking. I turn the monitor on and head down to deal with my brother.

"Warmed yours up too, Sammy," he says. I sit down to eat with him, for once not sure what to say. "You gonna be cross with me forever, Sammy?"

"No," I say digging in to my dinner, but this whole thing's got me feeling like not eating. "If I held a grudge every time Jared and Jensen got into trouble, I'd never be speaking to them. Just shocked. You know how Cas feels about technicalities. He told you to come straight home, because he felt you needed help managing your time, he meant after classes, not stay at school until you felt like it."

"I know Sammy, but what I did, well, it's not that shockin' when you think about it," he says with his charming Dallas smile. The one that's a soft, quarter smirk and makes his Colt-blue eyes sparkle.

"It's not?"

"I didn't want to let anyone down, the option provided for me seemed like a way that could serve both parties."

I'm intrigued, but not sold yet. I cross my arms at him though. "You're not a pleaser, Dallas, not in that big a way anyhow."

"It wasn't like that, I wanted to make sure everyone was taken care of. There was a bit of a pleasing element, but I felt like I had all these obligations to fulfill. I let myself get so consumed with obligations that even coming home when Cas said just seemed like another one; the spirit of why he'd told me to come home in the first place was lost. I realized when I saw your messages that Cas was right to put me on restriction. I lost perspective. I know Cas isn't going to buy the technicalities I allowed myself to believe were okay when Axl and I hatched our scheme. I'm not even going to try that one on him."

"Huh." I'm smiling now, impressed and can eat my dinner with a little more zest. "Okay, you've thought about it at least."

"All I did was think about it all the way home, Sammy."

Satisfied, I let it go—this is the nice part about letting Cas be bad cop. I feel I've done ample scolding and can move on. I tell Dal the story of what happened at the mall with Dean today, 'cause I know Dean's antics will make him laugh and relax him enough to eat his dinner. It works. He's laughing his rich Dallas laugh all the way up to when Cas enters the kitchen.

"He telling you what happened with Dean today?" Cas asks. He looks bagged.

"Yes, sir," Dallas says.

"Do you want something to eat Cassy?"

"We ordered food at our last meeting, I'm good Baby, but I am interested to hear why you two are eating so late." Cas removes his jacket and loosens his tie like he does.

Dallas may have been cool and collected when it was just me with him, but under Cas's cool gaze, it's harder. He's biting his lip. Cas finishes his walk in the door routine, which includes unbuttoning the top two buttons of his shirt. "Since neither of you are going to talk, allow me to measure a guess, you didn't come home when I asked you to, did you, Dallas?"

"No, sir."

"Even though Sam relayed my message to you."

"He did, sir."

"Wait, how could you know that, Cas?"

"I can read you like a book, Baby," he smirks. Cas doesn't look mad. He's tired to be sure, but he's nothing like he was this morning. He isn't pleased, but he's not angry. "Dallas, you're grounded until further notice."

"Yes, sir."

"Do you know what that means?"

"Home after school, in bed by ten and no going out on weekends, sir."

"Correct. Does school end when classes end, or extra-curricular activities end?"

"Classes, sir."

Cas nods. "If you have to stay for anything school related, you may run it by me; I may not say yes if technology can be used to complete the task. I imagine you'll get it right this time?"

"Yes, sir."

"All right. If you're finished with your dinner, to bed with you. We'll talk tomorrow after I get home from work."

Dallas runs off, grateful to be out from under Cas's heavy gaze. Even after all the years I've known Cas, I still expected some kind of fireworks for something like this and especially with his mood this morning, but he was composed and perfect. I don't think Dallas felt the same. Maybe it just feels like you're 'getting killed' sometimes, when you're the one who's disobeyed Cas.

"You look surprised, did you think I was going to kick him out?"

"No, but he, Cas, he completely disregarded your instructions."

"I know and I dealt with it and believe me, tomorrow, I'm going to make sure he knows that in this house, he should be most concerned with his obligations to me; not his friends."

"How did you know that? About the obligations?"

Cas pulls me up and kisses me deeply; my cock wakes up. "Takes one to know one. When you told me about his practice, I was busy and I didn't have time to really chat in depth, but I knew he'd feel obligated to go. I'm not surprised to find that he did."

"Do you think we'll get lucky and Dean'll be this easy to deal with when he's a teen?"

Cas laughs. "I don't think so."

Yeah, Dean'll be a handful, but we'll love him anyway. "So… are you gonna, spank Dallas?"

"What do you think?"

**

I take a deep breath. I don't know why I'm so scared. It's just a spanking—yeah, I knew I pretty much signed myself up for this the moment I went along with Axl's harebrained scheme. I trust Cas, unequivocally. So what's got my heart pounding?

I enter Cas's study. "Dallas. Please sit."

I sit. This is my first time in Cas's office, under such circumstances. I've been in trouble before, been grounded before, but not for something like this. I feel terrible and I just want to get this over with, so I can be in his good books again.

"I'm sorry brother Cas. I really am."

"I know you are Dallas, I thank you for the apology and this is pretty clear cut, I don't think I need to rake you over too many coals, but I do need you to understand something. I know exactly how you must have felt yesterday, I know you felt pulled to take care of everyone."

"I did, sir."

"You felt just as obligated to your friends as you did to me, that you wanted to take care of everyone; but I have a problem with that. It interfered with my obligation, to take care of you—unfortunately for you, in this house, my obligations come first," he says with all the authority in the world. He's also got a wide smile, a sage smile that's comforting even though I'm being given what for. "Which brings me to privileges. Privileges in this house are not free. You have been given many and you deserve them, but that doesn't mean you're entitled to them. I'll take them away if it becomes necessary."

"I understand, sir." Wow. Lectures from Cas aren't fun. I really feel the weight of not having followed through. And he's not even mad, he's warm, like a mentor, teaching me.

"I make decisions that benefit you and our home, which you are now part of; your decision to disobey me was unfair to all of us, including you."

I'm biting my lip again and gosh do I wish I could hide under something.

"Which is why I'm going to give you this spanking. It's both a consequence, the price you pay in this house when you disregard my rules and a reminder that you're supposed to ease the chaos of our home, not become part of it."

I get a strange feeling at the word spanking. It's not arousal of any kind. It's not a bad feeling, or a good one either; it's just… right and it will be a good reminder of my responsibilities.

"Does that make things a little clearer for you?"

I nod because I get it, I totally get it. "Yes, sir."

He gets up from behind his desk and I follow him to his black leather sofa. "Pants off please, Dallas."

**

Dallas has the spark. I can tell—it's just there. I know he's like me, because it's easy to see in him, Dallas doesn't hide himself—he's like an open book to me. So the lecture I give him is different than one I might give Sam. He's young and has lots to learn. Today it's about who number one alpha is. That makes it sound like a pissing contest. It's not, not here. This isn't about my ego, or about making Dallas submit like a dog in a pack. It's about order, respect, maturity, obligation... and the fact that he's the eighteen-year-old living in my home. Winchester law states that no age is above reprimand when there's a breech of authority, but the younger you are, the more rules you have and the more you're obligated to the Head of House. I respect Dallas's 'top-type' nature, I know how it feels to be spanked when you're a top-type—it's not the same kind of release you get when you're like a Sam—it's a price, a duty, what's fair and right. You accept it out of respect to someone with higher rank, rather than crave it.

Even though it can piss you off, sometimes a lot. It depends.

You almost avoid a spanking more than a 'Sam-type.' Many top types don't get spanked at all and certainly never by your spouse, it would be weird for Sam to spank me and he wouldn't want to anyway. But with the Winchester Way, even top types have someone to answer to for most of their lives and it makes sense that it's usually their father, or mother even an eldest sibling. By the time you reach my father's age, you've had enough reminders to remember your obligations (that's the hope) and the priority in which those fall. It takes a long time to learn.

Aside from all the 'Winchester stuff,' Dallas is also just a boy who disobeyed house rules. There are consequences in this house, end of story. He knows and I can see he's accepted.

Once Dallas is over my lap, I begin without preamble, over his boxers; hard enough I hear grunts. He's much different than spanking Sam, he's almost as tall (Dallas grew about as fast as Sam did) but Sam really knows how to take a spanking, Dallas is pretty much a newbie, not having been spanked often. I'm firm, enough to get my message across, but I'm not killing him. "Wow, that smarts, Cas."

" _Sir,_ " I correct him.

"Sir."

When I reach my fingers under the elastic of his boxers, I swear I can hear a whimper, but he hides it by putting his forearm against his mouth. "You okay, Dallas?"

"Fine, sir, just hurts some. Am I a big baby?"

That's kind of endearing. "No. Not a big baby." I don't tell him he's barely pink back here yet. I keep going until he's heading toward a particular shade of red and I know he's regretting his actions. It's hard for him not to squirm and move and take his feet off the ground occasionally. When I'm done, he's happy and wiping tears from his eyes. Something passes between us—a deeper bond. It's intrinsic. You can't help forming a deeper bond with someone you've spanked, with someone who's spanked you, so long as it's the right kind of spanking. I can see he feels proud for having gone through it and clearing the debt incurred when he disobeyed me. Even that's a bit different, though the wording is the same. When I spank Sam for breaking a rule, there's some sense of wiping the slate clean between us, but in this case, with Dallas it's not necessarily born out of his desire to please because of having disappointed me (though there could be some of that to a lessor degree), rather, it's a show of respect from one alpha to another; feeling like maybe he's insulted me.

"Thank you, sir," he says carefully pulling his boxers back up.

"I'm proud of you Dallas, you took that well."

He beams. Of course, he is still a kid. With youth, alpha-type dynamics aside, there is bound to be _some_ amount of him wanting to impress me, since he's told me he looks up to me. He's glad he has.

"You're going to wanna go see Sam now."

"Sam? I don't need aloe for this. Even I know you went easy on me Cas. I appreciate that—it was… let's just say I'm amply deterred."

He wipes his face with the back of his hand as I pass him his pants. "Not for aloe, unless you want it, he wants to hug you to death. I'm under strict instruction to send you straight to the kitchen for hugs and fresh baked muffins."

**

I've got a muffin with Daddy's homemade jam he made in the summer while I did important things around the kitchen (like check for spiders) and thank fuck, I can eat it with my hands—that I can do. I'm still making a mess, but at least Pala's happy, she likes Daddy's muffins too.

Uncle Dally joins us and Daddy's extra happy to see him. "C'mere Dally, you okay?" Daddy wraps him in a big hug.

Uncle Dally laughs. "I'm fine Sam, it was only a little spanking."

Spanking? _Spanking?_ I know what that is, Papa gives those out. I wonder what Uncle Dally did? I've never seen him play in the plant dirt.

"Well here, have a muffin with butter and jam. I made tea too."

Uncle Dally sits down beside me, he's careful about how he sits. "Here, have a cushion," Daddy says running over with one.

As they're getting sorted, Michael slides in out of the rain, soaking wet. "There you are, Sur," Daddy says, ticked (who isn't in trouble these days?), but going to grab him a dish towel. "You were supposed to text me."

"I did text you," Michael says, catching the towel (Daddy threw it) and wiping himself off.

"At seven o'clock this morning. I worried about you all night."

Michael shrugs. _Bad move. Bad move Michael._

A drawer opens and Daddy appears out of nowhere, slamming a wooden spoon down on the table. "You see that? I don't know what you are Michael, but I don't care either. Disobey me like that again, and I'm using that on your bare bottom."

Michael stands there slack-jawed and speechless. Uncle Dally's laughing. Daddy puts the spoon on the table and leaves momentarily. Michael sits down, cowed, staring at the thing like it might fucking jump up and bite him and Papa enters. "The spoon, Sam? You were supposed to hug him and feed him sugar."

"That's not for Dallas, Cassy. Do you want a muffin?"

"I'd love one, Baby."

Papa joins us, snatching me out of my highchair and I fucking squeal because my muffin gets left behind. Papa retrieves it for me and sets it on the table and me on his lap as he sits down. I go straight back to tackling my muffin. "You enjoying that Kiddo?"

"Mmmm. Muffin. Mmmm…"

He laughs at me then sets eyes on Michael. "Is that for you?" Papa asks, referring to the wooden spoon. Michael's quiet. Who the fuck knows what he's thinking? I know he's not happy about something, I mean, I guess having Daddy threaten you with a wooden spoon, isn't something anyone asks for, but I think there's more to it that that.

"I asked you a question, young man," Papa says.

"Apparently, sir."

"Mine Papa," I say and point to Michael to show Papa.

Michael glares on.

Daddy returns with muffins for Michael and Papa, not finished his rant or his guilt trip. "He's mine too and he can't be bothered to text just to say hey, I'm still alive, or even an I'm sorry I didn't get a chance to text you." Daddy storms away again.

"Sorry," Michael murmurs.

"Wow, you pissed him off, Michael," Uncle Dally says even though he's entertained by the whole thing. "You better start sucking up."

Uncle Dally gets a glare.

I've got muffin in my mouth I'm chewing, otherwise I'd tell Michael off. I feel Papa's eyes on Michael as Papa takes a bite from his muffin.

Daddy joins us with a muffin of his own, still waiting for an apology from Michael, 'cause no he doesn't count the lame-ass one he just got. Everyone's eating and drinking tea, except Michael, the wooden spoon in the center of the table like a bad omen. "Can you put that away, please Mr. Winchester? I'll text next time, I'm sorry. I don't get why you care so much, but I'm sorry."

"Apology accepted, Sur," Daddy says and gets up to put the spoon away. Wow, Daddy didn't even have to use it. "And I care because I do. There's no other reason."

"I'm sorry Mr. Winchester, I don't… I'm not capable of the same in return; please don't feel bad anymore. I…"

Daddy smiles at Michael, like he knows something Michael doesn't.

**

I don't understand humans, not at all. Especially these humans who make me _feel_ things. Never in all my existence did I have to contend with such nonsense. Now, I _feel_ bad because it appears I've hurt this human's feelings. Why should I care? I suppose because of Dean, least that's what I'd like to say, but Dean doesn't look bothered by his Daddy Winchester's upset at all. I've got no out, no excuse to _feel_ this way; I just do.

 _Feelings_ irritate me… which is just another fucking feeling!

I sit and stare at the muffin that was given to me. Blueberry, lovingly cut in half, with butter and the strawberry jam I said I liked once, even though I notice every one else has apricot. He… he did this muffin up special for me, even though I was an ass. It's so fucking _touching,_ my chest feels like it's pouring over and my vessel's intestines don't feel good and I'm wishing for a way to go back in time and fucking text him.

I was only being stubborn. I _could_ have sent him a quick text, but I chose not to, trying to prove a point to myself, that I don't care, bringing myself around to a different point instead, that I do. Now I've said sorry, twice even, but it doesn't feel like it's enough. I _feel_ inclined to make a gesture, a big one, give him something's he's been harassing me about for a long time.

"Aren't you gonna eat your muffin sweet pea? You need more jam?" Sam asks.

"I'm an angel, okay?!" I shout it so loud it stops all conversation and they're all looking at me and I prepare myself to be kicked out by Castiel.

Just when I think I can't handle the silence anymore and I've either got to leave, or raid Sam's cupboard for Pine-Sol, Sam slams five bucks down in front of Dallas. "Darn it. I really thought Upir."

"Upir?"

"Sorry, sugar. Too much Hemlock Grove for me, thought it'd be kinda cool."

Castiel slams five on the table too. "You sure you're not an incubus, Michael?

I'm insulted. "Incubus?" But don't bother to pursue that one, his reasons obvious.

Dallas accepts the money.

"You knew? How could you know?"

He shrugs. "Didn't. Was just a guess based on you're so dern lovable, sugar donut," he says locking an arm around me and using his big hand to mess up my hair.

"Stop it, stop it right now," I say pushing him away. "And I'm not sugar donut."

"You are cornbread," Sam says and he actually has the nerve to get up and wrap his arms around me from behind, then _kiss_ the top of my head. I allow it, but only because my goal was to make it up to him in the first place. "And I thank you for sharing that with us, but the consequence is still the same if you ever put me through that again."

He fucking means it and I shiver a little. Sam takes his seat and for once, I'm grateful that Castiel despises me so much. He doesn't hug me, or call me ridiculous names. I check in on Dean. He's watching me and there's something in his eyes—an ageless sparkle. I told him what I was, but that was a while ago, when he was someone else. He seems to _know_ but I wonder how much he _knows_ in the contextual sense?

Now though, Old Dean is there, eclipsing him. Smirking at me. Then he's gone.

"Mine," Dean says reaching for me, demanding to be passed across the table. "Dean does it, Papa. Pease?"

Castiel covets his Dean time, he hates having to share, especially with me, but he gives Dean what he wants, standing up and extending him out to me, I stand up and take him. He's a bit awkward in my lap, but it works. Then the little twerp grabs for _my_ special muffin. "Hey!"

"Mine."

"Everything's yours—ugh, fine, you may have half."

That appeases him. I begin eating the other half, before he takes that too. I notice the distinct lack of a certain stuffed creature. "Where's?" I make a motion with my hand to indicate what I'm talking about.

"There was an incident yesterday," Sam says. "He's currently indisposed."

I'm surprised when Castiel is the one to begin laughing. "That's a good story, tell it again, Sam."

But what Castiel thinks is funny, I find horrifying. "Well, how did you get the bathroom grime off him? How many times did you bathe him?" I begin checking him over. Dean complains.

"He's fine, Michael. I bathed him good."

"I'll be the judge of that."

Later, after muffins and tea, Dallas _asks_ to be excused to go do homework and Castiel _grants_ him permission. Something else happened here. _I'm gone for one day…_

I take Dean to the sink to wash all the jam off of him. "You know Mr. Winchester, I once read an article where a human got flesh eating disease from a public toilet."

"Lordy Bee, Michael. He doesn't have flesh eating disease."

"To be on the safe side." It'll take a lot of out of me, not to mention, my father will kill me, but all I can think about, are invisible bugs eating away at his skin. Since they know now, I put two fingers to his forehead, there's a quick flash of blue and I feel confident he's cleansed of all ales.

"What did you just do, Sur?"

"Healed him."

"You can do that?"

"Well not all the time, but yes, as often as I can."

I don't like the way "Daddy Winchester" is looking on at me, concerned. "Why not all the time?"

"That is not your concern."

"I will spank it out of you Michael. I'm a Winchester now, but I was a Colt first."

For some reason, I have no idea why, I look to Castiel for help. "Papa Winchester" shrugs. "Don't look at me, piss Sam off at your own risk."

That's when I realize how silly I'm being. Am I really going to bend to a little spanking threat? My father slices me to ribbons with an angel blade. A spanking, even with that _spoon_ is bound to be a tickle by comparison. Since I still haven't answered him, he goes straight to the drawer where it's housed and for more reasons I can't explain, just the sound of him opening the drawer, has me jumping to action. "No, wait! It's because I'm not really supposed to use my grace."

"Grace? That what that was? No, don't answer that, it was. Why aren't you supposed to use it?"

"My father, he says—"

"You just disobeyed your father?" Sam's freaking out. "I don't know much about your father, but I know there must be a reason that when he says jump, you say how high."

Now _that_ I'm not answering.

"Daddy Winchester" and I are involved in some kind of bizarre stare down, for who knows how long before he breaks the silence. "Cas, would you take Dean please? Michael and I need to have a little chit-chat."

"No, don't leave me with him, sir." Did I just say that?

"Papa Winchester" does come and relieve me of Dean, without raising a finger to save me. "Sorry, Michael. It's for your own good," Castiel says. _As if Castiel cares about my own good._

"C'mon Kiddo, let's take Pala outside, how 'bout it?"

"Pala, _out_ side?"

"Yeah, outside."

"Shoes on, Papa?"

He laughs as he walks away with Dean. "Yep, shoes on."

And then I'm alone with Sam. And his spoon.

"Can we have this conversation civilly, Michael, or am I spanking it out of you? I don't mind either."

He's determined and a determined Daddy Winchester gets what he wants; fighting at this juncture is pointless. "Fine. What do you want to know?"

Sam leads me back over to the table. "Come. Sit," he says pulling out a chair, _my_ chair, or at least the one it seems I somehow end up sitting in when I'm here. "Dean ate half your muffin," nothing escapes his notice today, "I'll get you a new one and more tea and I'm going to learn all about you."

I hesitate, but only for a moment. I feel like I owe him. He'd probably say something like, "you don't owe me anything, Sur," if I even hinted I thought I did, but he'd be wrong. Something about this human gets me to feel like… well, to _feel_ in much the same way Dean does even if on a much smaller level. "Will it have jam on it?" I ask, climbing into the chair, like some little kid.

"Strawberry. The kind I know you like, Cornbread."

The nickname does twist my lips, but I don't complain, just this once.


	31. TIME STAMP: A DAY IN THE LIFE (2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is just a fun, short, cute thing, which is hopefully humorous. Probably the fluffiest thing I've ever written, but after all that angst in that last GUW TS, I needed it!
> 
> This was a prompt from sd_scoobydoo, who contributed significantly. She provided me with songs and what the heck you'd actually do in a swim class. Thank you to her for this and for always being a positive inspiration to Mock, in many ways, ones that go beyond writing.

"Mr. Winchester, I beseech you not to do this," Michael says.

"He needs to learn how to swim, Michael. What's going to happen when we go to the beach, or take him on the Winchester's boat in the summer? I mean, he's fine now with all of us around, but what about when he's older and on his own?"

Michael looks like he's going to have a heart attack. Can angels have heart attacks? I roll my eyes. "And besides, I think it could really help his dexterity. I meant to put him in ages ago, but one thing led to another."

"I'm coming with you."

"That's unnecessary, sweetheart."

"I insist."

"All right, all right. You can come, but there will be rules." I can just see Michael now. Swimming lessons involve a lot of dipping Dean under water, he'll probably think I'm drowning him and rush into the pool

Speaking of Dean, he peals out with a squeal to wake the dead. "Dean Daniel," I scold. He's pissed because he wants out of his highchair. He was fine only a second ago, but when Dean says jump, Daddy's supposed to say how high. "No need for squealing little man." I know, I know. The whole trying to reason with a two-year-old thing, but it makes me feel better to say it.

On cue, he squeals again, when I don't move fast enough. "Okay, okay." I grab a cloth and hurry back to begin wiping him down.

"One could say he's turning into a spoiled brat," Michael comments. I can't deny it and Cas is on my case about it anyway. I'm trying to be more firm with Dean, but… but, he's my baby.

When Dean's all wiped off, I put him on the ground, so he can chase Pala while I clean up. Michael watches on, judging me. "When you have a child of your own Michael, then you can come tell me all about it. Until then, keep your judge-y eyes away from me."

"I'm never having a child," he scoffs. "Especially if that's what they're like."

I smile secretly. That's what they all say.

Dean runs up to Michael and grabs his hand. "Mine?"

"All right, what do you want now?" Michael gets up (as if he'd have done anything else) and follows Dean and Pala, wherever they may go.

"Don't go too far you two! We're leaving in thirty minutes." It's just the kids and me today. Dally's at school, Cas is at work—a usual day. I've been excited for weeks to take Dean to swimming lessons. To be honest, part of the reason we haven't taken Dean swimming is Cas. He's feeling exactly like Michael about the whole thing, but his common sense forces him to understand that Dean needs to learn how to swim. It doesn't mean he wasn't going to take advantage of Dean aging slowly and putting it off as long as we could. Finally, combined with my constant debating that it would be good for his motor skills, Cas conceded. He's still worried as Hell and had a hard time saying goodbye this morning.

There was nothing unsual about that though—Cas is and always will be an over protective Papa. The surprise was Dally who kept giving Dean apprehensive looks all morning and an extra long goodbye. Like maybe it was the last time he would see Dean. And if that wasn't enough to go by, we had a conversation that looked like this: "You know, Sammy, even if he does learn to swim, at his age, we've all got six eyes on him, not to mention, even if something _did_ happen, it would be one of us saving him."

"Not the point Dallas, but I'd really like to know what yours is?"

"Nothing. Just, call me when it's done." When 'it's' done, like I'm offing someone. Talk about dramatic.

So with even Dallas apprehensive, I'm apprehensive. All it's going to take is Dean not liking swimming lessons for the whole thing to be called off. I shake my head, no, he _will_ like them. How could he not? I signed him up for the most popular class with the most popular instructor at the pool and I signed him up for the younger class. There was the choice of infant to two, or two to five years. I was told in the former, it's easier and perhaps the way to go if my child's never had any formal classes, so I did. It will all be fine. Though… maybe I shouldn't have said Michael could come with us.

**

I gave Michael the low down before we left the house. "No, you're not coming in the pool. You don't need swim trunks."

The scowl I got from him all the way to the Club was memorable. He's not even speaking to me at the moment.

I don't let him ruin my excitement though. I talk to Dean as I get him ready. "Guess what Dean, we're going in the water."

"Wa… wa'er?"

"Yep! Water. And you're gonna learn how to swim and everything."

He gives me the cutest, curious look, watching me carefully as I dress him in his swimming trunks. "Daddy, too?" he says when he sees I'm wearing nothing but a set of red board shorts. Yeah, no t-shirt. Don't get me started on that war with Cas. Yet another reason he's not fond of the whole swimming lessons ordeal, but I wasn't wearing a t-shirt in the pool and at least I was able to get into swimming lessons at the Club we're members at, where we know more people than we don't.

"Yep, Daddy's got his swimming stuff too." Dean looks excited and that gets me excited. Attaching him to my torso, I stuff all our stuff in a communal locker (we have our own locker here at the club as well) and lock it up.

"Daddy, Mine?"

"Michael's waiting for us out by the pool Dean Bean." I push his soft curls back and kiss his forehead. "Let's go."

Michael's there and he's not happy. We're a little early, so I stick with him. "It's all going to be okay Michael. We'll be right there in the shallow pool. I'm sure you can get there quick if need be. Don't your, uh, abilities allow for that?" Michael _just_ told us he's an angel. I'm still trying to learn what all that means. He keeps saying he doesn't need sleep, but right now, he's looking mighty tired and I'm tempted to put him down for a nap when we get home. Sure I'll get accused of infantilizing him, but I'm willing to suffer that.

"Abilities or not, I'd feel better being near by. There's also the matter of your dictatorship, which is unfair and stupid if you want my opinion."

I love it when he acts just like a little boy. A little human boy. I wonder if he knows? "I don't thank you. I will say that if Dean is drowning, you have my full permission to use your, abilities." His smile curls like he's the Grinch Who Stole Christmas. "Really drowning Michael. Do something when he's not and you can have a spanking as soon as we get home."

His face flushes (I have to bite my lip to keep from smiling) and he looks around to see if anyone heard me then he crosses his arms, pouting. "Fine."

Dean reaches out for Michael, so I pass him over. "Wa'er?" Dean says, pointing to the water.

"Yes, water my little duck." He's sad, like Dean's going off to war.

I roll my eyes. "Lordy Bee, Michael." I don't have time scold him anymore, out from the change room walks Cas and Dallas, both looking sheepish and both dressed in swim trunks. "What in the—"

"Hey Baby," Cas says.

"Don’t you hey baby me Castiel Winchester. Dallas, I thought you had school?"

"Yeah, uh, I do, but… I'm skipping okay? I had to be here for this—I'm all caught up anyway."

"Not okay. It's not okay to skip school for something like this, we'll talk about this later, Dallas."

He rubs the back of his neck. "Sorry, Sammy."

"You're not."

"Not really. Are you gonna make me leave?"

I should. "No. You can stay."

"Papa!" Dean squeals (which Cas doesn't mind, suddenly) and dives for him. Cas catches him and swoops him up.

"Hey, Kiddo."

I cross my arms at Cas, about to lay into him, when Michael speaks up, outraged. "They all get to go in and not me? This is outrageous." Michael's real cute pouting like that.

Cas opens his mouth about to scold him, when I send a searing look Cas's way to tell him this is my rodeo and he should let me handle it. "Go'on to the Club's Pro Shop Michael, buy yourself something on our account." I convinced Cas to set Michael up under us a while ago, much to his dismay, but even he couldn't deny the logic. Michael's here with us more than he isn't and signing him in all the time was getting cumbersome, not to mention we're only allowed so many sign ins per person per month.

"Thank you, sir." Michael takes off before Cas can say anything.

"Samuel."

"Hush."

Cas glares. Dean points to Cas. "Papa!" then looks at me to make sure I've seen. I think even Dean's caught on to how affectionate we are, he's wondering why we haven't kissed yet.

"I see Papa sweetheart and I'd like Papa to tell me what he's doing here?" My fist goes to my hip.

Cas runs a free hand through his hair. "I can be present to view my son's first swimming lesson," he says bouncing Dean who snuggles into him, excited Papa's here on a workday.

"Dallas?"

"Same."

"Lordy Bee. Okay, so we're all attending. C'mere sweetheart." I pull Dean back from Cas. This was supposed to be Dean and Daddy time. I'm happy to have them here, but I get first dibs on Dean.

**

When Michael returns, decked out in new swim shorts, he looks a bit guilty. "What did you do Michael?"

"N-Nothing! I just, I want to pay you back for these. It was the cheapest pair they had, but they were still over priced."

Judging by the little alligator on the hip, they must have been expensive. "It doesn't matter Michael. Besides, you watch Dean for me often and I've never done anything for you."

He looks at me like I've lost my memory or something. "Thank you Mr. Winchester." That's not what he was really thinking though.

"Well, c'mon then." The five of us (thankfully Tigger's in the locker) head over to the smaller pool where the other parents and tots are waiting. We're greeted by the instructor.

"Hi! I'm Emily, who've we got here?" She's a bright looking young girl in a purple, one piece bathing suit with dark hair that's tied back.

"Hi Emily. I'm Sam. This is Dean."

"Well hi there Dean," she says and he gives her a big smile looking up to me—he thinks she's pretty.

"Hi!" He gets a little shy and curls into me.

I smile. "I'm Dean's Daddy, this is his papa Castiel, his uncle Dallas and his… Michael."

"Wow, a whole family affair. C'mon into the water, I'm just waiting on one more parent."

"She's not even out of high school," Michael hisses.

"She is, but that's not the point Michael, she's highly recommended." I keep my voice quiet, but smile awkwardly at the other parents, hoping they can't make out what we're saying. I recognize a lot of faces, but turns out I don't _know_ everyone in this particular group. In a club like this, it's possible to see people and not learn their names or learn their names and not _know_ them.

"Hello everyone. I'm Castiel Winchester…" Cas says (though I'm sure most at least know who he is), doing his schmoozing thing while I contend with Dean who's suddenly decided that he is not going in the water and because I'm the highest point from sea level, he's climbing up my neck.

"No, Daddy!"

"See? He doesn't want to do this, let's go." That's Michael of course.

"He'll be fine in a minute. Dean, don't you want to play in the water?" Normally he likes the water. He's just being fussy.

"No." In addition to his no, he also let's out an unhappy squeal when I try to put him in the water anyway.

"Okay, okay." Great. This is going real great. At least I get a look of contrition from Dally.

"Don't want that," Dean tells me.

"Maybe you'll change your mind in a minute."

His answer is grumping into my shoulder. He's lucky he's cute. "It would be nice if you'd help me, Michael."

"Help you convince Dean to enter this cesspool of germs and dead skin? As it is, we're all going to need baths and sterilization."

I walked right into that one.

"Would you come into the water with me, half pint?" Dally tries.

"No!"

Dean's getting upset enough to cry, I can tell by the change in his tone, so I hold him a little tighter. "I'm not going to put you in the water, sweetheart. You can stay right here with Daddy and watch for today if you want." He's not asking to go home, so that's something.

Cas wades over. God he looks good in those swim shorts, water dripping down his chest.

"What's going on?"

"Dean is terrified," Michael says unhelpfully.

"He's not terrified Michael. He'll be okay, Cassy. He just needs a minute." Dean puts his thumb in his mouth. I left his soother behind with Tigger. Michael's not all wrong. I think I'd have to throw his soother away if it fell out in here. Not that we couldn't buy more, but Dean has his favorites. I continue to soothe my baby and worry a little. This isn't like him. He doesn’t always like having a bath, but he loves the water. I look around at the other kids who are playing and laughing—Dean wants nothing to do with them or anyone who isn't Daddy. I feel a little better when I see one other little girl Dean's age, is also clutched tight to her mama.

"C'mon Dean. How about just a toe?" Cas tries to wheedle.

"Mmmngh!" he says around his thumb. He's just getting pissed now.

The final parent and child show and Emily wades into the water. "Welcome everyone! Let's get started."

**

I was suspicious about this whole thing from the start, but I went along with it because I've been in Grampa's pool and it was fun. I don't like this pool, or the screeching kids (Papa and Daddy keep saying I screech, but I hope they can see now that I don't) and Michael keeps saying things that are making me question this whole thing. I mean, yeah, he's always overprotective like Papa, but he's pushing hard on this one. I think I'd better take him seriously.

I cling the fuck onto Daddy. He's like a really tall tree in the middle of an ocean and suck my thumb 'cause I don't know what the fuck happened to my soother. The only reason I'm not demanding we leave this place is because, well, despite all my doubts I'm curious, okay? Daddy's been talking about today for-fucking-ever and I wanna see if it's as fun as he says. So far, big fucking thumbs down. And the water is tepid at best, it's going to take something pretty nifty to get me into that water.

The lady is pretty, so points for that, but she's a little too cheerful. Can she really like being in the water that much?

"To begin, we're going to get in a circle and we'll go around to introduce everyone."

I've still got my head in Daddy's neck, but when I hear singing, I perk up to watch. "Amy's here today, Amy's here today, we all splash our hands because Amy's here today!" The pretty lady is clapping Amy's hands together, as her mama holds her, half submerged in the water and sings the song just for her.

"Recognize the song half pint? It's just like Farmer in the Del. Like I've sung you," Uncle Dal says.

He has. I do know that song. Okay, I'll hear her out. I flip around in Daddy's arms (still not touching the water) so I can see her better. "That's a fun song, isn't it Dean Bean?"

"Song," I say pointing at her. I do like songs.

I'm last, which is good. I've noticed a lot of getting wet when she clapped the other kids' hands together and I don't know if I'm into that. She doesn't seem to care that I'm not in the water. She takes my hands anyway and I can't help staring at her big smile. "Dean is here today, Dean is here today, we all splash our hands because, Dean is here today."

She claps my hands together and I end up smiling back. Even Michael does, for a second, he'll never admit to. I look around to all my family members to make sure they were watching. Huh. I'm the only one who has more than one family member here. It's probably because my family's better than theirs are.

"Now that we're all introduced, we're going to play a little game to make sure everyone's in the water."

What? I don't fucking think so. I'm not doing that. "Daddy, not in the wa'er."

"Not if you don't want to. But c'mon, let's at least hear the game baby boy."

The song was fun… _Okay, watch'you got pretty lady?_

"I want everyone to kick the water with their feet. If you want, get someone wet."

Well fuck, that _is_ my kind of fun. I start kicking my feet 'till Daddy gets the hint and puts them in the water, I immediately splash Michael. "Hey! Stop that. Stop it now!"

I giggle.

"Oh, you think that's funny do you?" he says wiping water out of his eyes. The answer is yes, yes I do.

"Michael," Daddy warns. "He's I-N the W-A-T-E-R. Just let him."

I have no idea what most of that means, but I'm pretty sure that I can keep kicking water at Michael, so I do. As I do, I get used to the water and slowly sink my way further down Daddy 'till my swimming shorts are ballooning with water, I can get Michael wetter this way. Daddy still has to assist me—I don't want him letting go yet.

When I'm done splashing Michael, Daddy's got a big smile on this face and he's crouched, since he's so tall, he has to squat into the pool so I can hang onto him and be in the pool and he starts walking around with me, spinning us. "Look at you Dean Bean, you're in the pool!"

Yeah, I guess I am. I smile at Daddy, it's hard to resist when he's that happy looking.

"Next, parents, I want you to take your child under the arms, let them float and encourage them to kick with this song…"

Papa, Uncle Dally and Michael watch on apprehensively as Daddy grabs me under the armpits, positioning me a distance away from him and at first I give him a look of shock, because hey, I didn't say he could do that, but then it's feels so good, floating as if in space and I'm smiling at Daddy as he walks around in his crouched position singing the song the lady told him to. "This is the way we kick around, kick around, kick around, this is the way we kick around, all through the pool!"

I kick, kick, kick, with all my might. This is awesome. But Daddy better not let me the fuck go. I keep checking in with him to see what he's up to. I don't _think_ he'll let go.

"All right parents, find a spot on the wall and have your toddler or baby sit on the edge of the pool and then…"

She keeps explaining shit, but I'm not listening because Daddy's sitting me on the edge of the pool and I don't fucking like it. "It's okay, Dean."

"Yeah, Papa's here too. Sam, maybe you shouldn't."

"He's okay, Cassy. Ready Dean?"

For what?

"Humpty Dumpty sat on the wall," oh fuck, this feels bad, _bad,_ "Humpty Dumpty had a great fallll!" Suddenly I'm falling back into the pool with Daddy's hands to support me. I don't know what the fuck's happening the whole time, but I hear Daddy say to kick again, so I do and he's smiling, so I smile and together we kick across the pool. Okay, maybe not so bad.

"Good job, kiddo," Papa says.

"Yeah, half pint. You're almost a swimmer."

Michael says nothing, pissed, his arms crossed. He is not having a good time. So why did he want to come so bad?

"Can I try one Sam?" Papa asks. Daddy doesn't look so sure about it, but I doubt he'll say no to Papa.

"He's just getting comfortable Cas… all right." I think a little bit, Daddy doesn't want to share. I get it. I fucking hate sharing. When other kids come over, I try to gather up all my toys and guard them. Pala helps me of course, she's always on my side. Tigger does too, depending on his mood. Sometimes he'd rather just drink beer.

Daddy passes me over and Papa knows he's reluctant. "Just for one Sam then I'll give him back." I have to get shared between so many people, because they all love me so much—that's what Daddy tells me.

"Next, we'll practice suspension with the child on their back. We sing a little song that goes like this…"

"Ready Dean?" Papa says.

"What, what's dat Papa?"

"I'm going to lay you on your back in the water, okay? Papa will help you the whole time. Promise."

Papa doesn't break promises. Fuck, okay. Seeing I'm agreeable, he coaxes me backward, so I'm laying suspended above the water. One of his strong hands is placed at my low back, the other under my head, but it feels fucking weird and I just want to kick so I'm upright again, so I do. I look to Papa—was that okay? "Very good job!" I smile, "Want to try again, Dean?"

I do for Papa. I want him to be proud of me.

The pretty instructor lady comes over to help us. "How's Dean doing over here?"

"Good, but he keeps standing up."

"Okay, mind if I help?"

"Please," Papa says.

She places a hand under my low back, Papa's is still under my head. I'm so not sure about this, but Papa said he'd watch me, so I go along with it. "There we go Dean!" she says way too excited and she starts singing. "I'm a little pancake on my back, I'm a little pancake nice and flat. I'm a little pancake on my back, flip me over just like that! Okay, now kick Dean, kick!"

I kick like crazy showing off for Papa as they drag me through the water on my back. Daddy's laughing and clapping, so is Uncle Dally. Michael is frozen in perpetual anger. What's up his ass? I mean, yeah, I was worried too when I started, but now I'm having a good time. Not to mention, I'm totally pwning swimming.

Papa passes me back to Daddy. "Way to go baby boy. You're going to be an expert in no time."

I am. I really am. Just to solidify that, I start kicking again, so Daddy has to hold me away from him and I can kick through the water. "He's like a baby fish," Uncle Dally says.

"Now we're going to blow bubbles…"

I'm turned to face Daddy and he's got his hands under my armpits with me floating in the water, his arm's length away. "Okay, we're going to blow bubbles, like this Dean." Daddy puts his mouth in the water and blow bubbles, making loud sounds and Michael loses it.

"Mr. Winchester please! You can't really expect him to do that. This water is unsanitary. It makes my vessel's skin itch."

Daddy, Papa, and Uncle Dally look around to all the other parents who have stopped to look at Michael and his freak out. Uncle Dally laughs nervously. "He's okay. He's got… eczema."

The parents seem to accept that.

Papa doesn't. "Michael, if you cannot behave yourself, I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

Michael ignores him, he must be really freaking. "Are you going to do it Mr. Winchester?" He's talking to Daddy not Papa.

"He's already behind Michael, he needs to learn to do these things," Daddy says.

"Fine. I'm sorry Dean, I can't watch this." Michael climbs out of the pool and stalks off.

"Michael, wait in the Bistro for us," Daddy calls after him.

"Mine?"

"He's being fussy, but it's what we expect from Michael. There are just some things he can't handle," Daddy tells me.

I could have told Daddy that. Daddy carries on with the blowing bubbles game, which I catch onto quick, thank fuck. I notice some of the babies in the class have a harder time and are licking the water. I do it too, but only because I want to see what the attraction is, there isn't one, not really, but it's making Daddy, Papa and Uncle Dally laugh at me so I keep doing it. I love being a ham for them.

"Just two more skills to go for today, I'll be coming around to assist for this one. While you wait, have your child practice blowing bubbles in the water then kicking."

Daddy is loving this and it's like he's taught swimming before, he's a natural at everything. He holds under my armpits and has me float and kick and blow bubbles in the water. Eventually, it's my turn with the lady. I look to Daddy a bit unsure when she puts a hand under my belly, but I let her take me from him.

"This is what we're going to do Dean, I'm going to put your head under water for just a second, then you're going to swim to Daddy, okay?"

Under water? I don't fucking know about this. I'm not sure I want to go under water, but there isn't time to contemplate. With one hand firmly under my belly and the other at the back of my head, she dips my face into the water. It's quick, but it's fucking shocking, then I hear to, "kick, kick, kick to Daddy," and I fucking do to get away from the crazy bitch who face-washed me. I grab Daddy around his neck as he wipes a big hand over my face. "It's okay, Dean. You're fine. Look you swam to me on your own. Did you notice?"

Daddy is the master of distraction and now all I'm thinking about are my incredible swimming skills. I get a bit shy. I did?

Daddy uses his hand to give my belly a little shake. "You wanna try that again with Papa?"

No fucking way. "C'mon Dean," Papa says. "I bet you could swim even faster this time." He holds his arms open for me.

I can't help it, I'm a whore for impressing Papa, so I make my way over to Papa and we practice. I'm still not sure about the whole dunking my face part, but I get used to it, I feel safer with Papa than I do the lady.

**

"The last skill is getting out of the pool, which we'll do each time. What I’m going to show is a little more for the older ones, parents, use your discretion."

Since I'm going to get to do this with Dean each time, I pass him over to Dally who hasn't got the chance to do a skill with him yet and he's excited. He wouldn't have asked, knowing how greedy I am over the whole thing, but he's not going to give up the opportunity.

This is the shallow pool, so technically, we could all just walk up the built in steps that lead out of the pool and some of the parents with smaller babies do that now, but Emily wants the older kids to learn to climb out the side. She instructs the parents to make their leg into a step for the child and have the child climb out then sit on the side and wait for their parent. Dean has a bit of a tough time, his development still stunted more than I think it should be because of stupid Crowley. Sure, every kid is different and some kids just simply don't have the aptitude for climbing as others do, but I feel like a kid like Dean could have. That's the reason I hate watching him struggle—it doesn't seem fair. He's determined though, so with a great deal of effort, he makes it up and over the side then sits as instructed.

"Did it, Daddy!" he says clapping.

"That's a very good job, Dean," I tell him and pop up beside him to sit. Dally is next and sits on the other side then Cas, who takes his little boy with him, grabbing him up from under the arms.

"Thanks Emily, that was great," I say.

"Dean did very well, Sam. I have one spot left in my Puddle Ducks class, it's geared for kids who are also age two, but a bit more advanced, all the way to five. I think he'd fit better there."

I look to Cas with wide-eyes, stunned and happy. We almost never get that with Dean. My hearts lifts and I feel like I'm soaring. "That would be fantastic Miss Emily," Cas says.

"Great. You don't have to change his registration, I'll take care of that, you just have to show up. Oh and, it's on the same days, but an hour later, will that be okay?"

It'll interfere a bit with his nap, but I don't care. Dean can swim! Yeah, that might be a bit premature, but holy fudge, he can do stuff. "No problem at all."

"Cool. Gotta get to my next class, see you Wednesday."

"You hear that Dean? You've already graduated," Cas says being a proud Papa.

I'm not sure if Dean knows what graduated means, but he knows he's done something good Papa's beaming about. "Dean does it, Papa."

"Dean does it. You want Papa to take you into the big pool?"

"Yeah."

Cas gives me Dean. "Watch Papa jump in," Cas says. Dean does with pure amazement as Cas pulls off a gorgeous dive off the low diving board, submerging himself. I swear the whole pool's watching as he springs up out of the water, the spray from his hair arcing backward, looking like a commercial—a really fudging sexy commercial. He wipes his eyes and smiles up at Dean, treading water.

"He's jumpin' Daddy," Dean says pointing to his papa.

"He's a crazy Papa!"

Dean giggles.

"C'mon kiddo, you wanna jump from the board? Papa will catch you."

Dean becomes a mixture of brave and scared as he checks out the diving board apprehensively. He just saw Cas do it, who made it look like nothing and a lot of fun. Dean wants to do it. "Dean does it," he decides climbing down from me. I stay near him as he climbs up the steps to the low diving board and watch him with my gut churning as he steps slowly, with timid steps, inching his tiny feet toward the end of the diving board.

I can tell he's a bit frightened, but it doesn't compare to my level of terror, for a moment, I want to kill my husband. I'm also grateful Michael's not here to see this. He gets to the end, the board waving up and down minutely, and looks down at Papa. "C'mon Dean! Papa will catch you," he says again. "Promise." It's a solemn promise, one Dean's already learned is worth more than any other thing in the world. That's the last vote of confidence he needed.

His knees do a little bend and his jump is so small, it doesn't get him very far from the board, _he'd better not hit his head Castiel Winchester,_ but he plummets toward Papa, who does catch him, but allows the momentum to pull him under water for just a moment or two then back up to Papa's arms. "Wow! That's my boy!" Cas says as he helps Dean wipe water from his face. Dean seems to forget he was under water (he sure didn't like it when Emily dunked him) and kisses his Papa's face right near the corner of his lips.

"Again, Papa."

Again? Oh Jeez. I don’t know if my nerves can take it, but I don't have much of a choice if I want to continue to foster Dean's confidence in the water and not just with Dean with Cas too. For a moment I thought Dean wasn't even going to go in the water and that Cas would call the whole thing off—he certainly would have had Dally and Michael's support. Now, the only one still against this whole thing is Michael. Who I've still got to talk to.

Dean does six more jumps off the board getting braver each time, loving the time with his papa. By this point, Dally's jumped in the water too, treading away and cheering Dean on, while I freeze my butt off by the side of the pool, being a total helicopter parent, still wanting to make sure Dean gets to the diving board okay.

When Dean's had enough of the diving board, distracted by a pool noodle, I do my own share of showing off. "Dean, look at Daddy," I say from way up high on the high dive. I do a fun flip I think he'll like and land with a big splash. Dean's impressed. We all have fun playing with him and the pool noodle for the next thirty minutes.

**

Dean looks adorable and happily tired, sucking his soother, sporting wet, just-got-out-of-the-pool hair. He's in one of the highchairs provided by the Bistro and it content with cut up pieces of pizza, Tigger watching from the table so he doesn't get pizza on him. All of us have that ravenous after swimming type hunger and pizza seemed like the only thing that could satisfy us—at least I know the pizza is house made, plus, it's one of Dean's favorites. He deserves a treat for a job well done.

With one boy content and satisfied, I turn to the other. He's been sitting here while we finished up the lesson, played, got changed and dressed. Now, his head is resting in his hand, propped up by an elbow on the table. He may be this, angel whatever, but right now he looks for all the world like a tired little boy. "You don't want any pizza Michael?"

"Soon." And he doesn't know it yet, but he's going to have a nap, same as Dean. Cas and Dally have lunch with us, but then they both have to go to the places they should have been this morning.

Dean conks out pretty much as soon as he hits his car seat, Michael's will to remain awake is kept alive via the power of his scowl. "You gonna forgive me anytime soon? It's over Michael."

"It's not. He's going back Wednesday."

I sigh. "Okay fine, it's not over, but will you forgive me anyway?"

I can see his face soften in the rearview. I always invite him to sit up front, especially when I know Dean's going to fall asleep anyway, but he always declines. I'm pulling up to the driveway and he still hasn't answered me, I wonder if our relationship is never going to recover because I put Dean in swimming lessons. I pull Dean out, careful not to wake him, though I don't think a siren could wake him now and Michael grabs our things.

I head up to put Dean down then back to the kitchen to retrieve Michael whether he's mad at me or not. He _will_ get over it, I've decided and he's still having a nap. All the words leave my head when I get to the kitchen. Michael's awkwardly carrying two mugs of tea to the table. I cross my arms. "What's all this Michael?"

He shrugs and takes his seat, looking like a little kid, climbing up on it (I wonder if he knows he does that too) so I take mine. He initiated this, so I let him lead. He sips his tea; I sip mine. "I don't know how to do this," he finally says.

"What are you trying to do?"

"I forgive you except, I wasn't really mad at you."

"I've seen friendlier hornets Michael."

"Okay, I _was_ mad, but I… it was like I couldn't control it. I didn't want to be that upset." _Not at you._ I can hear that even though he doesn't say it out loud. I think I might have a talent for reading angel-whatevers.

"I know today was uncomfortable for you."

"It was, sir." He's starting to look more relaxed.

"I'd also say you handled yourself pretty well. I can understand why you were angry Michael, it must have been really hard for you. I hope you've thought about it you understand why I had to go ahead with the lessons."

He nods. "I do, but I think I shouldn't go anymore."

"If that's how you feel, but you are still welcome."

"I think it's for the best. I didn't like… It didn't feel… Sir, I don't want…" His face is tinged red and his eyes are a little too glossy.

"Awww, c'mere cornbread." Whether he wants to or not, I get up and pull him to me. He's shaking a little bit. I push his hair back and kiss his forehead. "You'll get angry with me again I'm sure and that's okay, I can take it."

"B-But I—"

"Shhh. All is good, honey. Know what'll fix all this?"

"What, sir?"

"A nap."

"A nap, sir I'm too old—"

"—nonsense. No one's too old for anything. In fact, after I tuck you in, I'm laying down myself."

"Of all the absurd ideas."

"See look, mad at me again already. That's gotta be some kind of record." I give him a good squeeze. "C'mon now, let's get you snug as a bug in a rug. Everything will feel better when you wake up, like magic."

"O-Okay, but sir, even when I'm mad, I…"

He's shaking slightly again. I rub a hand on his back to soothe him. "I know Michael. It's okay, and when we all wake up you can give Dean a couple of baths."

"Seven," he says as we walk out of the kitchen.

"Three."

"Six."

"Four and that's my final offer."

"Yes, sir. Four."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Watch This!](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CPGd21OTkbg)
> 
>  
> 
>  This is crazy, I little tiny almost two year old who can jump off the diving board himself AND swim back to the side of the pool himself. It's so cute.
> 
> And on that note, Mock is going on a very mini hiatus. A very mini one. I'll see you all in November. (If I can, I'll try to post something, but it's looking like November atm) Thank you again to everyone who reads my stories. I'm so grateful for YOU! <3


	32. TIME STAMP: Dean Goes to a Wedding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well hello Mockians--if you still are Mockians that is. 
> 
> Finally, at long last, something to post! Just in time for Christmas, even if this TS has nothing to do with Christmas. People are wondering where I've been, and I am so touched by the love and kindness people have shown me over the past few months, even though I've not been great at responding. I thank you all so much. Know that every single one of those messages were appreciated, and squeezed another paragraph out of me in one of my stories--you guys were my fairy clappers. 
> 
> Now where have I been? Life has kicked me in the ass. I've been going through some painful, confusing stuff. Normally, I go to my writing to help with such situations, but I've been experiencing this pain for so long, it's left me emotionally exhausted, and I need emotion for when I write you see, so there was just no steam left. I apologize. I am so sorry. 
> 
> I assure you that I am NOT going anywhere. I have been working on stuff in EVERY story, it's just taking a fucking long-ass time. 
> 
> This time stamp was a lot written back in June. I was inspired by this very strange wedding I went too, so a lot of this is true. I mean, changes for our little family here, but I modelled it after things that happened with a little boy that would have been Dean's age, who attended the wedding. 
> 
> I'm not sure what else to say, but know I WILL be responding to every comment on this chapter. Ask me what you like about anything. I can't promise and answer to every question (if it's too personal, or I don't know ;) ) but I WILL write you back. 
> 
> I love you all and miss you so much. And yes, I am back. My muse seems to be coming back to me as much of the emotional exhaustion is, well, taking a break for now at least. 
> 
> Happy whatever you celebrate! 
> 
>  
> 
> Enjoy! (and if you hate it, please be nice anyway, my muse is so fragile right now)

****

**Timeline: Present is an undisclosed time in the future, think Winchester Way Era. I'm not going to say exactly when, and Chris and Jake are left out on purpose, so no one can guess 'till later. You'll see a story is being told. Obviously, the stuff from Baby Dean's head can't be remembered, but I wanted us to see some Baby Dean, so, that doesn't exactly translate (you'll see), but hopefully we'll all overlook that, so we can enjoy our favourite l'il dirty-mouthed toddler in all his glory.**

"What are you doing?" Michael asks as he smoothly opens the kitchen's sliding glass door.

It's fucking obvious what we're doing. "We're looking at old photos Michael. Sit," Daddy says and I smirk at Michael—he hates looking at old photos. He doesn't like being reminded that he was small and vulnerable once, well, for an angel.

"I don't want to look at photos—they inevitably have me in them, at a time I wish I could forget. I'll be in the next room."

See?

"I wasn't asking, Michael," Daddy says with that look you don't mess with, not even if you're an ancient pile of rocks. I smirk harder as he takes his seat at the kitchen table.

"What happened here?" Uncle Dal asks pointing. "And what exactly is Dean wearing?"

Daddy laughs. "Oh yeah, you haven't seen these ones, these were from before you lived here."

It's hard to think of a 'before Uncle Dal lived here,' and I haven't seen these particular photos either. What the hell _am_ I wearing? "Why, Daddy? Why?"

"No. Oh no. Dean. Did you have to? Now he'll want to tell the story," Michael says.

"Oh c'mon Michael, it's a good story. It was your first real Cas-authorized family event with us."

"I'm certain he did not view it that way—I was the unpaid help."

Daddy twists his lips. "Michael. You were wanted."

"Perhaps by you," he concedes. "Anyway, the whole thing was a disaster."

"That just makes me wanna hear it more," Uncle Dal says, exaggerating a whine to tease Michael with.

"It wasn't a disaster Michael. Dean had a good time."

Michael glares at me like I could have had anything to do with that. "I was a baby Michael."

"You weren't one hundred percent baby; _Old_ Dean was there too."

"Um, technically, you befriended Old Dean first, you know," I point out. He has nothing to say to that. "Besides, look how cute I was." I was a super fucking cute baby.

Michael peers past Daddy to look at the picture of us together. He looks about eight and I look pretty little; still in diapers. "Your cuteness is besides the point." He crosses his arms and he would lean back, but there's no backrest on the bench seat at the kitchen table.

Uncle Dal gets up. "I'll make tea. Sounds like this is going to be a good one."

"Oh it is," Daddy says. "I took Michael shopping."

Uncle Dal laughs. We all know what a joy that is. Michael gets increasingly pissed off as a shopping trip progresses. I decide to lean into Michael; he relaxes some. At that point, Papa walks in. "What's all the noise about in here?" he asks.

"We're just about to hear a story of me when I was little and Michael too."

"Yeah? Which time was that?" Papa asks.

"Rachel and Joan's wedding," Daddy says.

Papa's brow furrows together. "They really want to know about that time? The wedding was lovely, but Dean hurt his head."

"That was a week later, Cassy, at Mark and Paul's house warming."

"Oh. Right. Maybe I need a refresher too," Papa says taking his seat at the head of the table. "What's with you?" Papa asks Michael.

"Nothing, sir." Michael uncrosses his arms, and sits up straight, attempting to look more convincing that there is in fact nothing wrong with him. The look on Papa's face says he's not convinced, but he doesn't pursue it, and since Papa hasn't said anything about how close I'm sitting to Michael, I stay where I am.

Uncle Dal brings the tea over and starts pouring for everyone. "So a wedding? You had him dressed like that for a wedding?" Uncle Dal asks.

"No, he _was_ dressed nicely, see? I think this is the only picture in existence—before the wedding took place," Daddy says, flipping back a couple pages in the scrapbook. "There aren't too many pictures period, but this is a story, let me tell you."

"I should get to tell some of it," Michael complains. "If you're going to make me sit here, at least we should hear my case."

"I'm going to tell the story Michael. But if you want, you can tell us the Dean parts where you were with him and we weren't."

That placates Michael somewhat. "Yes, sir. I can tell you exactly what he was thinking."

"Can _not_ ," I say. "How would you know?"

"Can too. I know you so well, I can read your mind right now."

"Cannot!"

"Too!"

"Not!"

"Too!"

"Dean, Michael—enough," Papa says.

"Yes, sir," we both say, trying to glare at each other without him seeing even though there's no way he can't, _not_ see.

"Michael, switch places with Dallas, please."

"But, but sir, this is my seat." No one expects Michael to say that, not to Papa. We all hold our breath, thinking Papa's going to tell him off, but he's amused by it instead.

"It's still your seat Michael, and when you two can stop acting like five-year-olds, you may have it back. Move."

I try to give Papa pleading eyes, but they don’t work and Michael has to move; Uncle Dal takes a seat beside me. "Behave yourself, Half Pint."

"Yes, Uncle Dal." But I stare longingly at Michael from across the table.

"Now, Sam why don't you start us off? I could use a good story. It's so rainy and dreary."

"Of course, Cassy. We went to that wedding not too long after we brought Dean home…"

Once Upon a Time Ago Set: Just after The Colt Family leaves. About two weeks.

"Um, Sam?"

"Yeah, Cassy?"

"With all the visiting with your family, did you forget something?"

I frown as I clean up Dean's face. He's not having it this morning, wiggling and twisting, trying to view his dog. Pala barks, anxious for him to come out of his highchair to play. "In a sec, Pala. He's coming." While Dean can still be apprehensive of the dog, he'll do about anything to escape his highchair, including acting like he wants to see his dog. "Wha'd'I forget?"

Cas brings over the invitation, the one that's been hanging in clear view on the refrigerator this whole time. "Dang it. Rachel and Joan's wedding. This weekend." Yeah. I did forget about it. With all the family and now with a new little one, it just slipped my mind.

"Dah-dee!" Dean complains, but I'm panicking a little bit. First, I had responded to that invite for two and now we're a three. There's no _way_ I'm leaving Dean with anyone who's not family yet. Second, providing it is okay with the brides, I'm going to have to take Dean to an event—a non-family event—I've never done that before! Okay, sure. I've raised an army of Colts and some, but this is different, this is Dean. _My_ baby. If only Dallas were here already, but he doesn't come 'till end of August.

In the midst of my freak out, there's a knock on the sliding-glass, kitchen door, that's timid, but is clearly trying to sound forceful. It's Michael. I abandon Dean (who is not pleased with Daddy leaving him) and open the door for Michael. "C'mon in sugar. You don't have to knock."

Michael ducks his head. The boy's dark hair is neatly combed, but it still sports a messy wave of bangs that feather backward, making him look very cool. He's overdressed for this hot summer day, in navy blue slacks and a white polo; shiny black dress shoes, but he doesn't seem bothered in his get-up. Instead he's stately. Somehow the skinny, tall boy is stately. And very proper.

Dean is screaming now, so I move to release him from the highchair he's trying to force himself out of. Cas glares in Michael's direction, overtop of his newspaper, idly sipping his coffee. I don't think he realizes he's doing it. I remove the tray and catch my antsy little boy, who's diving at me already. He's got frustrated tears in his eyes and he's pissed at me. "Dah-dee!" That 'Dah-dee', is a full on scolding for me.

"Oh hush," I say wiping his sad little tears. "You're out now." His chubby, little toddler hands reach to hug me anyway, even though I'm the one he's put out with. "Look who's here baby boy."

Once he sets eyes on Michael, he lights up again. Dean's taken a real shine to Michael. I think they're going to be good friends. Michael's still standing at the door with his shoes on. "I said come in Michael. Sit down and stay awhile. How'd you get here?"

"My, er, uncle, dropped me off."

"Uncle?"

"Yeah."

"He didn't want to come in for tea?"

"I guess not, sir."

"Michael, we've been over this—you can call me Sam."

"I… thank you, sir."

I twist my lips again as I set down my squiggly boy, who wants to make his way over to Michael. I then watch as Michael somehow manages to remove his shoes and contend with a Dean, who's barreling himself toward Michael. He really is good with Dean and it gives me an idea. Cas can read my face. "Samuel."

"Well, it would be nice to have the help—so we can visit. You know we haven't seen this group of friends in forever." Cas and I have many different groups of friends. "Plus, the wedding is at Joan's grandparents, parent's old house. There's a beach there—it's going to be a laid back wedding. The invitation says to bring your swim shorts."

I pull out all the stops, giving him the, what he calls, 'Puppy Eyes McGee.' "Michael will be so well-behaved, and so good," I add. Cas begins folding up his newspaper, irritated.

"Sir?" Michael says, lifting Dean with an ease that an eight-year-old boy shouldn't have, but with the awkwardness of his size, so it looks a little less weird.

"Mine!" Dean squeals. Michael scowls.

"Cas?"

"We don't even know what _it_ is?" Cas tries to say under his breath, but from the way Michael's eyes squint, I can tell he's heard. He doesn't mention it though.

Despite himself, Michael smiles at Dean in a private way. I know he enjoys the greetings he gets from Dean, even if he pretends not to. I've noticed he's like that—it's like the poor boy doesn't think he should get to have anything nice. Michael stares at Dean, forgetting for a moment that he's got spectators. When he remembers himself, he begins fussing with Dean's shirt. "What's squished into your shirt?"

"Probably jam," I tell him. "I just gave Dean his breakfast."

"Pah-pa," Dean says, showing Michael his papa.

"Oh no. Don't think you can deter me. Sir, do you mind if I change his shirt?" Michael asks.

I'm on thin ice with Cas and I'm not sure how he'll feel about letting Michael take Dean up into his nursery unattended to do that just now. It's not something Michael hasn't done before, but I'm asking for one huge thing, this would be like asking for another thing even though they're not the same. The items all add up until Cas's head explodes.

"Let's do that in a bit. For now, you can just take it off," if it's bothering you, I don't add out loud for Cas's benefit. I can already hear him saying, 'why should you be doing things for Dean, for the boy's benefit?' so I maneuver past that one, because I don't want to have to answer. I'm drawn to do things for Michael, even though I'm only just getting to know him. I don't like seeing Michael stressed out and I know he'll be just that having to look at Dean's jam-stained shirt another second. Cas will figure me out eventually anyway, if I don't tell him first, but now is not the time.

"I thought they put bibs on babies," I catch Michael saying; Michael thinking I'm not paying attention, as he removes Dean's shirt. _They?_

"Sam," Cas says having stood and is now pulling me by the wrist over to a corner in the kitchen where we can still see Dean and Michael, but we have some conversation privacy. "It's bad enough this is third day in a row I've had to deal with his presence, you can't really need him with us, can you? You're Sam Colt."

I only just refrain from an eye roll. "You said you were okay with Michael as a friend for Dean."

"I am." Barely. "But it's a bit much. Before you know it, he'll just be waltzing in through our kitchen door any old time he pleases."

As if that's going to happen. The boy won't even do that with me _telling_ him to do it.

"Plus, we'll have to reserve for four. Rachel and Joan won't appreciate that. It's enough asking for the one extra space for Dean."

"They won't mind, Cas. You know them. Rachel is a hipster and Joan is rich. They won't care about the extra plate, or the company." I'm still giving the eyes. I want this. Bad.

And I can see it. Cas is caving by the second. "I need to make the decision that's right for our family, Sam. That's my role. You don't make the decisions—or con me into them—I make the decisions.

"Of course, Cassy." I try to look innocent. He does make the decisions, he really does, and I prefer he does, but on occasion, I make it known what direction I'd like that decision to go in case he might go that way. It doesn't always work, but sometimes it does. What I've got going for me in this case, is that Cas'll think it's a good idea too. He can't deny it's the best course of action in this situation, unless he decides to be stubborn. Not something to rule out. Cas does make the best decision for us, but he's human and on occasion, feelings cloud judgment.

"Fine. Providing his father approves, I see no reason Michael can't be our tag along babysitter," Cas says, but he's growl-y about it.

I bend down to hug him. "Oh! Thank you, Cassy!"

When we part, he shakes his head and heads back to his seat at the kitchen table, reopening his paper in a way that reminds me of Clyde. He's going to become his father isn't he? "Take them both to get something proper to wear," he says. As if I wouldn't, but he needs to say it. He's feeling slightly manipulated. "I don't like when you use those eyes Sam." But he does.

"Spank me later, Cassy."

"Doesn't work that way, but yes, yes I will."

~**~

"Mr. Winchester, I assure you, I have something acceptable to wear to a—a wedding."

I feel like he wanted to insert a word before wedding. He does that a lot. Something condescending probably. Oh well. At least I got a Mr. Winchester vs. a sir. I'll instill some laid-back Colt in this boy yet. "That's nice Michael, but it means a lot to Cas and I that you're coming." We stroll casually through the boy's section of the clothing store. Dean's awake in his stroller, kicking his feet and making humming sounds behind his soother.

"Well perhaps to you," Michael says and if I was on a chair I'd fall off it. Did he just say something contrary to me? I mean, he does it with Dean all the time (I've overheard the pair enough) but not me. I stop walking to check out a shirt for Dean, so I'm not looking directly at Michael when I respond.

"Oh honey, Cas is just a protective Papa. He'll come around," I say referring to the less than enthusiastic welcomes he gets from Cas. "And yes it does mean a lot to Cas. If he's said yes to you helping out with Dean, that's no small thing."

Michael thinks about that so hard, I can see it on his little boy face. There's a flash of little boy hope and excitement I catch with the corner of my eye. It dies quickly, along with whatever other childhood dreams this boy probably had, but he still _wants_ to believe. All his vulnerability remains inside of him, even if he's trying to hide it.

"Y-You think?"

"I know, because I know Cas better than anyone, Michael. Just behave yourself around him, best you can."

Michael nods. "I will, sir."

"Now c'mon tell me, what do you think of this for Dean?" I hold up the most ridiculous thing I can find.

"Are you blind? I… I mean, sorry sir. Inappropriate. It's lovely," he says, his face twisted like he's just sucked on a lemon.

I laugh. "It's okay for you to hate it and say so Michael." I know I can get him to crack eventually. I saw the way he was with Jensen and Jared.

He looks uncomfortable with that. "Yes, sir. Is it time to feed Dean yet?"

That's his gentle way of telling me he thinks it is—I've learned that too. Michael's an open book if you're watching him just right. It has been quite a few hours since breakfast, but Dean's not fussing yet. Michael doesn't like it to go that long. "Here, why don't you give him a Colt-cracker to chew on? I've also got some fresh-squeezed juice. We'll stop for real lunch in a bit."

"Yes, sir."

Michael hands Dean the cracker and sits in front of him, watching him eat it (like a hawk) while the stroller is parked. "I'm just going to look at these pants over here Michael. Okay?"

"Fine, sir." He's not paying much attention to me anyway. I head over to the little boy pants, keeping them within eyesight.

"Isn't that nice?" a little old lady, sorting through the t-shirts, says. "You've got two nice boys there, young man."

"Oh, uh, they're not both mine," I say even if that feels wrong.

She gives me a knowing look, a sparkle in her eyes, and nods. "Hmmmm, no yet, but you'll see." She selects a t-shirt from the rack and without another word, moseys off. I'm left stunned, mouth-gaping for a moment, but then I hear Dean complaining and I'm distracted.

"No! Uhhh! Uhhh! Peas, _peas!_ "

"Stop squirming. You're staying put," Michael says.

Dean's decided he wants out of his stroller. I abandon the pants I was looking at and head over. "Dean. Is it time for lunch?"

"No. Noooo. Ooou-tt. Oou-t." His words are so cute.

"He won't listen to me Mr. Winchester, and I think he'd be easier to take care of _in_ the stroller than out. That is, if you think so."

Yeah, right. I often get the feeling Michael has opinions on my parenting style he'd like to share with me. "You're right that he would be easier to take care of in the stroller Michael, but that's if you're thinking only of how easy he'd be to keep track of. But if we're talking volume, then his screaming's about to ruin that," I explain, as I unbuckle Dean—yes I buckled him in, yes that's overkill, but he's my only baby gosh darn it.

"Dah-dee. Ooou-tt?" he says, even though he's already out and on my hip now.

"You can come out for a bit baby boy. Maybe you can hold Michael's hand?" I say putting him on the ground next to Michael.

"You _will_ hold my hand," Michael says grabbing his hand. Dean doesn't seem to mind.

"Don't go far you two, stay within sight of me. I'm just going to grab some of these pants." Michael's proven himself a worthy babysitter in my mind. I was looking after a couple of Colts at his age. "And you're next Michael." It's hard not to laugh at the scowl I get.

We all abandon the stroller. I grab the dress-pants; Dean and Michael walk around the boy's clothing section, Dean having to touch everything he sees and Michael scolding him for it. Dean thinks he's funny and I smile, enjoying how much they're enjoying each other, even if Michael's a bit of a basket case right now.

After another half hour of looking, I finally get an outfit for Dean and instead of hungry, my little boy looks tired, rubbing at his eyes. "You want to put him back in his stroller Michael?" I can already tell Michael's the kind that will feel good about doing stuff like that, stuff like taking care of Dean.

"Yes, sir."

Dean whines as Michael lifts him from under his armpits. "Dah-dee! _Dah-dee!_ Noooo!"

"Oh, c'mon pumpkin butter. Here, have your soother," I say, popping it into his mouth. He's got tears in his eyes and he's sniffling woefully. "Aww. My boy is so tired."

The soother calms him down and Michael distracts him until he forgets he's in the stroller. Before long, Dean passes out, leaving me with a scowling little Michael. "I suppose now that he's asleep, you'll be able to focus your attentions to torturing me?"

I laugh mostly because he's serious, but partly because he's so darn cute when he's pouting. "It's hardly torture, Michael."

"But I have suits, sir. Nice ones. My father recently bought me an Armani."

Those Italians _can_ make suits. "All right, fine Michael. You may wear that suit, but I'm buying you something," I say with a smile on my face that makes it clear I'm about to have fun.

His face screws up with confusion.

"Comfy sweatpants."

I expect him to come out with something placating, while he curses me on the inside, but Michael surprises me with defiance. "I won't wear them." He even crosses his arms.

I smile and pull a pair off the shelf. "And a hoodie too. That way, on movie nights, you can sit in something more comfortable than slacks, while also being warm. Jeez Michael."

His whole body tenses with anger; he reminds me of a teakettle about to spew steam. "I am perfectly fine in the clothes I wear."

I'm sure he is, most of the time.

But.

"Well, I'll have them just in case." The way all the anger in him sort of just, deflates away, I know he can't be affected badly by my decision. Since Dean is sound asleep, I take the opportunity to browse for other items and buy some more things for Dean (and Michael when he's not looking). I think about what the strange lady said, and have to keep looking at Michael (also when he's not looking). I do feel a particular amount of affection for the boy already. I just know he's going to stay around. Yeah. I think it's okay for me to start thinking of him as mine, but I might keep that to myself for a while. I can't help wanting to keep him though. It's the Colt in me. 

Finally, I've got enough stuff and I can tell Michael's done with this shopping trip. "What do you say, sugar plum? Should we go get something to eat?"

He twists his lips at 'sugar plum'. "How are we supposed to feed Dean when he's asleep, Mr. Winchester?" Michael says, his tone of voice implying I should have fed him earlier.

I ignore his implication. "Oh yeah, he'll sleep a while yet. I mean you and me, silly boy."

I've already picked up on another thing about Michael, which is that he's not as interested in eating, as most boys his age tend to be. I can't determine why that is. I don't think it's something bad—he does eat enough—but it's simply not like other boys in my experience. "Right. But what about Dean?"

I laugh. "Don't worry honey. He'll get fed." That doesn't seem to appease him. "I'll make sure you get to feed him when he wakes, okay sugar?"

Michael nods. "Thank you, Mr. Winchester."

We head over to the food court, and all I can think about is how much I dislike it when he calls me 'Mr. Winchester'. When we get to a table, I begin pulling out the food I brought. "May I ask why we bother to sit here, if you've already brought food? Wouldn't it make more sense to simply, _go home_?"

I smile and continue pulling stuff out. "Probably, but I think it's more fun to eat out sometimes." I put a homemade sandwich in front of him and he stares at it a moment, before he does a perfunctory check of Dean then digs in. He eats neatly, also unusual for an eight-year-old. He's a peculiar boy in so many ways, but I already know I have great affection for him. He's just, there now, inside me. There would be a huge hole in our house without Michael there.

I eat my sandwich and Dean stirs a little, which has Michael's attention, but Dean doesn't wake up. I excuse myself to grab some hot water for my teabag and when I get back, "are you kidding me? You're going to make your own tea in the middle of the food court?" Michael's outraged.

I'm glad to see him comfortable enough to say that. Time to take this up a notch. "Yeah. They don't have the kind I like here. You want some?"

He looks exhausted at having to deal with me and my strangeness. "Fine. I'll have some of your magic tea."

I pull out a couple of mugs and two teabags instead of one. "Let it cool a moment," I tell him once I've got it poured and it's steeping.

"This is pretty good," he says when I finally deem it cool enough for him to drink.

"Tea is good for the soul Michael. A cup of tea can cure anything you know."

His eyes narrow into slits, as he drinks the rest of his tea in silence.

Dean opens his eyes, earlier than I expect him to, which means I might have a grouchy toddler all afternoon. I pluck my sleepy boy out from his stroller; he's got sleep-face, his eyes match Michael's slits, his little cheeks are pink and he's all around drowsy-looking. He sucks his soother with contempt, rubbing at his eyes. "Did you have a nice snooze, sweetheart?"

He nods, placing his head into my shoulder, not willing to talk, or socialize in any fashion yet. I eat my sandwich and sip my tea one-handed while Dean takes his time waking up. Michael looks significantly more relaxed and I'm guessing it's because he knows feeding Dean is a possibility in the near future. He's even eyeing my Marry-Poppins-like-diaper-bag.

Once my free-hand is free, I pass Michael the bag. "Here, go nuts. If you can get him to eat, by all means. I warn you though, he likes to have his 'waking up time'." Dean is very particular about that.

Michael can't stop his eyes lighting up. He digs through the bag and pulls out what he knows are the things I've packed for Dean. "Time for you to eat, Dean," Michael says holding out a piece of cheese for Dean, who is still in my shoulder. Michael's voice does get his attention.

"No, dat." He snuggles in further.

"You might want to give his highness a minute."

"You know, he's really acting like a baby."

"He is a baby Michael." Even Dean doesn't realize how much of a little guy he is now, I think. It must be pretty confusing for him. I know he still has plenty of big guy thoughts and memories and trying to make sense of them with his little guy thoughts and emotions must be hard. I try to make it as simple for him as I can. It's not as hard for me. I think of Dean as my little guy and I treat him as such. I did even when he was growing down. When Dean's forty, I'll still treat him like my little one. It's my parental right.

But he and Michael have a different relationship.

Michael thinks about what I've just said, about him being a baby. "I know that, but he's not exactly a baby. He's a moddler."

I don't bother trying to explain that one. People have different opinions on the topic, especially at this stage of Dean's transition. "Either way, if you bug him to eat, he's going to have a fit right now. Just give him a few minutes to wake up and he'll eat everything we brought for him."

Michael either doesn't catch the 'we', or he doesn't care. Instead, he silently fumes over Dean's refusal to eat. As I predict, when Dean's feeling awake, he becomes interested in what Michael has for him. Michael finally relaxes when he's decided Dean's eaten enough.

"So? Time to go home?"

Michael gives me a peculiar look.

Oh right. I called it 'home'. It's not Michael's home. Well fudge that. He may not know it now, but someday he'll feel welcome; he'll feel at home. "Yeah. I think it's time to go home," I decide out loud.

~Wedding Day~

I am not amused. Why Daddy thought it would be a good idea to strap me into this monkey suit is beyond me. It's a million fucking degrees out. Why would he do this to me? He nattered on about this being a special event, but we're outside. Out-fucking-side. It's on a farm. I know because I'm pretty sure I saw chickens, which I'd better get to check out later.

I've been complaining about my outfit non-stop, and normally someone would do something about it, but all I'm getting are dirty looks from Michael (yeah he's here too for some reason) and shushes from Daddy. "Offff. Off!" I say, tugging at the jacket. It's so confining. "Uhhhh. Uh!"

"Just for the ceremony, baby boy. C'mon, there's going to be a pretty lady walking down the isle soon."

No fair. Daddy knows how much I like pretty ladies. I look to where he points. Sure enough, a lady is starting to walk down the isle toward another lady, both wearing white dresses. She is pretty, but I'm more interested in getting Michael's attention. I reach my leg out far as I can to kick him, but it's not long enough. He notices what I'm doing anyway and grabs my foot. "Settle down," he whispers to me as the other people watch the people dressed in white.

I don't want to settle down though. Daddy starts bouncing me. "Dean, Dean, Dean, Dean," he chants quietly, as we bounce. I suck my soother, distracted by the bouncing for about five seconds.

_I wonder what Papa's doing?_

I climb across to his lap, and he accepts me, but I'm squirmy in his lap too. "I'm going to stand up with him and walk over there, Sam," Papa says quietly to Daddy.

Daddy nods, fixing my hair before Papa stands and makes off with me. He quietly makes his way to the back of the rows of people sitting in chairs on the grass and picks a spot on the side of the crowd to stand, bouncing me up and down, swaying with me. I am unimpressed. "Pah-pa!" I say. Too loud apparently, because Papa is quickly shhhhhshing me, and swinging me around to look at the view.

"Look, Dean. Do you remember what that is? That's a big lake."

Yeah I remember what a fucking lake is, Papa. Jeez. I'm sure even an actual almost two-year-old would recognize a lake. Can't fucking say lake though. It is pretty. "Yeeeah, Pah-pa. Uh!" I point to it, because maybe we can go play in the water. Would cool me off from being in this fucking suit.

Papa bounces me again, rocking us side-to-side. "Shhhh, c'mon kiddo. We'll have lots of fun after," Papa tells me quietly. "Look at all the people."

Look at all the people. Is that the best you can fucking come up with? _Look at the people!_ Like I'm some kinda toddler who can be distracted by something so simplistic and… god fucking dammit. I've been staring at the people, playing right into Papa's hand. Have I become more _baby_ than I'd like to admit?

I have to think about that and _that_ distracts me, more than some stupid people. Of course Papa assumes he's successfully distracted me. When the people disperse, Daddy and Michael head over to us. "Mission accomplished. He was easily distracted once we were up," Papa says, proud of himself. I scowl as Daddy takes me from him.

"That true Dean Bean?"

"No! Uhhh!" I tug at the suit thing again. I want it off and I think we should blow this Popsicle stand if anyone wants to know.

"Okay little man. Let's get you more comfortable. Michael, you wanna come help me?"

Fuck. Finally

"Yes, sir."

Daddy takes me into the house. I complain all the way. "Doesn't he understand that you're taking him to change right now?" Michael asks.

Of course I do. I can complain if I want.

"I don't think so. Sometimes I still see glimmers of… Dean? Old Dean? not sure, but he's changing Michael."

What the hell is he talking about?

"I've noticed."

He has? What the fuck? But then I see Daddy's got a wet cloth (where did he come up with that so fast? Hunters don't miss stuff like that) and I'm dodging his attack. "No! No Dah-dee." He ignores me and keeps wiping. "Ick!"

Daddy smiles. "See? Baby-like behavior. I would know. I've raised a Colt-full."

"Hearing you talk in Colts is sometimes disturbing," Michaels says apprehensively, like he's waiting for Daddy to do something. "But I suppose that's an accurate summation."

Daddy reaches out and tousles Michael's hair. He gets a glare for his troubles. "I'm glad to see you've taken to heart what I said."

What did Michael take to heart? What did I miss? "Mine," I say for good measure and point to Michael, as Daddy coaxes me to lie down and begins removing my diaper.

"Ugh. When will he learn to say my name?" Michael's on the ground, actually on the ground, with Daddy, as Daddy changes me. I know Michael doesn't like dirty things, like floors.

"I'm not sure, Michael. You'll have to help me teach him."

I can say things. Just to prove a point, I sign the word milk. And also, I'd _like_ some fucking milk. "In a min—actually, Michael, you wanna grab the bottle out of his bag there?"

Bottle? I know we ditched those ages ago. It's been _forever_. I want my damn sippy cup. "No!"

"You don't want milk?" Daddy says slipping a new diaper underneath me.

"No!" That's not what I'm trying to say. No one understands me today. I sign the word milk again.

Daddy looks confused. "See if he wants it, I guess," he says to Michael.

Since when does Daddy not know exactly what I want? This is a nightmare. I must be in a fucking nightmare. When Michael hands me the bottle, I snatch it from him, even though it's the wrong damn drinking instrument. "Okay, guess he does want milk," Daddy says. "That good, Dean Bean?"

I nod. There. That's pretty fucking adult. Nodding. I suck my bottle, and when I catch Michael's face, I smile at him. He's pretty.

"Thanks Michael." Daddy proceeds to sit me up when he's done changing me, and he helps me out of my jacket, while I continue to suck. He removes everything; my vest and white, long-sleeved button up shirt then looks me over. "Guess I'd better do sunscreen. No chance he's going to stay in the shade the whole time."

Fuck no. No fucking sunscreen. I know what that gross, goop is. Still hanging onto my bottle in one hand, I lean forward and push up with the other. "Oh no you don't, monkey. We're not done yet. Daddy's got to put sunscreen on you."

Yeah, I know. I'm avoiding that. "No!"

"It seems to me that's all he says anymore," Michael comments. _Yeah? Well, no one asked you, Michael._

Since escape is futile, I allow Daddy to put the stuff on me. He already put it on my face earlier, but now he's slathering it on everywhere that was covered by my clothes. I complain the whole time. "There," Daddy says when he's finally done with that crap. Then, what the, what's he doing…?

Daddy starts putting my vest _back_ on. I thought I was going in the buck? "You gotta have something on, or your papa will freak. We are at a wedding, even if it's a casual wedding."

I don't argue, because I know it's true. I know they think I'm just a baby, but I get how strict Papa is about stuff. I like Papa to be proud of me. When Daddy's done with me, I'm in a diaper, the black vest I was wearing over my white, long-sleeved earlier (sans the white shirt of course), and a pair of Keen sandals. "He looks ridiculous," Michael says.

"No," I tell him. Again, _who asked you, Michael?_

"He looks adorable," Daddy says. It's just then, one of Daddy's friends approaches.

"This must be the little guy," she says.

Daddy scoops me up off the floor, in his big arms, standing from the kneeling position he was in while applying the sunscreen. "This is Dean. Dean, meet Dawn."

Daddy gets in a boring conversation with his friend, so I decide to squirm down, still holding my bottle. Daddy let's me down, seeing I'm headed straight for Michael. "Out," I demand, pointing to the door. I'm going outside, but I want Michael to come with me.

"You got him, Michael?"

"Got him Mr. Winchester."

"Who's that? Did you adopt two boys?" I hear the lady ask Daddy, just as I'm taking Michael's hand. "I thought it was just the one."

"That’s Dean's friend…"

I don't hear the rest, because I'm already toddling toward the door. Yeah I fucking toddle. It's hard to drink and walk at the same time, but I try anyway. Michael's frantic by the time he grabs my hand. "Dean. Hold my hand, and watch where you're walking."

Fuck hand-holding. I try yanking my hand away from Michael, but he's super fucking strong. So I squeal and that works, since he doesn't seem to want me getting Daddy's attention. "Fine, but I don't want you running down the stairs. You know you can't do stairs, well."

At least Michael still reasons with me like I'm an adult. "Kay," I tell him. One of my latest words.

"And watch where you're going. You can't walk and drink at the same time. Gimme that."

I hug it to me and pull it away from him. "Mine." And I don't mean him right now. He knows.

"Why are you impossible today?" he says, but follows me wherever I decide we go.

People watch me walking across the deck and I hear, "look how cute!" "That's Sam and Cas's new little boy," "Isn't he sweet?"

Some people come up to me and say hi, while others comment on my outfit and how a-fucking-dorable it is. Eventually I run out of deck space, and I hit the stairs deciding I don't give a fuck about what Michael said about not going down the stairs. There are dogs in the yard. They're big dogs, like Pala, so I don't want to get close, but I do want to watch them play. I take a step and Michael grabs my arm, just as my foot is slipping off the first step.

"Dean! Oh for the love of… wait for me to help you." Michael helps me down the steps as I take them one at a time, bicycling my feet down the steps as Michael grips my wrist and I dangle a little. If I'm being honest, I'm just moving my feet and he's maneuvering me down the stairs. He gets me to the bottom, where there's grass.

And Papa!

I see him talking to one of the ladies in white. "Pah-pa!" I say as I run to him and wrap around his leg, sloshing milk on him, but Papa doesn't seem to care; he's already used to how messy I am I guess.

"Is this Dean?" the pretty lady asks.

Papa lifts me off the ground, looking me over as he sets me on his hip. "What are you wearing? Yes, this is our son. Dean."

Something about the way he says _our son_ , makes me want to puff my chest out a little. "Can you say, hi?" Papa asks me, and fuck, there it is again, more proof they seem to have forgotten I'm not actually eighteen months old.

"No!"

"I apologize. That seems to be his favorite word today," Michael says, reminding us he's still here.

Papa squints at him. "Aren't you supposed to be watching him? What's he doing down here? Does he have sunscreen on?"

"Who's this, Castiel?

"That? Oh that's Michael. Dean's friend. He came to help out."

"It's nice to meet you Michael," the lady says, putting her hand out to shake Michael's. "I'm Joan."

"Pleased to meet you, ma'am," Michael says.

"Such a polite boy."

"Yes, Mr. Winchester, he has sunscreen on," Michael tells Papa.

After that, the conversation gets stale again and I want out, so I kick my way down with a squeal for good measure. "All right. All right. Michael, are you watching him?"

"Yes, sir," Michael says.

I head in the direction of the dogs and can feel how frantic Michael is behind me, catching up. "Can you at least help me out while your father is around? Unless, maybe you have become nothing more than an infant?"

Dickface. You know what? He wants a damn infant? Fine. Babies don't give a shit about what people want from them. I open my mouth and let out a huge squeal, like he's killing me, or something. It gets Papa's attention fast. "Shhh. Shhh," Michael says grabbing me under my arms and giving Papa a look that says I'm all right, enough to stall him while he tries to appease me. "I saw some chickens. Want to see the chickens?"

He's trying to distract me again, like I'm a fucking infant. But I _do_ want to see the chickens. He's lucky. "Yeah."

Michael laughs nervously in Papa's direction. "He's okay. I'm taking him to see the chickens."

Papa glares at Michael hard, but doesn’t do anything when he sees I'm fine. Michael grabs my hand and leads me around back of the house. "Why are you being a little shit? You're such a pain in my fucking ass! Why do I bother with you?"

Babies cry when people say mean things to them. Pretty sure. I will admit, that is something I can do on cue these days, so I let loose a wail to raise the dead (as Daddy would say). Michael panics, looking for Papa to come around the corner at anytime and skin his vessel. (Only Papa doesn't know it's a vessel).

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. You know I don’t mean it. You're just frustrating today. Do you… I don't think you realize you are acting quite like an infant today. It's… disconcerting."

Michael's not making fun. He means that. Now _I'm_ 'disconcerted'. Maybe I am that much more infant? I mean, I have accepted this life and that I like snuggles with Daddy and my blanket (who is _not_ Mr. Blankenstien), but on some level, I was always adult Dean. Is that changing?

No. Nope. I deny this.

I say this, as I'm entertained by chickens. _Chickens._ To be fair, I've already seen plenty of adults entertained by the fucking chickens too—they're fascinating. I stare at them, and I'm pouting, sucking my damn soother, until Michael rouses me from thinking. "Dean?"

I point at the chickens. "Tick-kuns," I try. Hey, that wasn't half bad. "Tick-kuns!"

"Yes, yes. Those are _chic_ kens," he says like he needs to teach me.

I turn around to glare at him. I'm an infant not an idiot.

"Oh, I see. You were happy you could say the word. Bravo for you."

Michael is being more of a dick than usual. I decide I want nothing to do with him, or anyone, and that maybe I'll go live with the chickens. Unfortunately I need Michael's help to make that happen. I point to the chicken coup.

"You can't go inside there. Don't be ridiculous. I don't trust them not to peck your face off. And besides, they've got to be the most unsanitary things I've ever seen. Blech."

Figures. Daddy and I have noticed Michael's a bit of a clean freak. And peck my face off? C'mon. But without his help, I'm stuck watching the chickens from the outside, pecking their heads forward, as they walk and making little "buck, buck, bock" sounds. They're not as loud sounds as Daddy makes them when he's doing his chicken impression for me. Chickens. They're pretty funny looking. They also flock to the area of fence Michael and I are standing before. "The little idiots must think we have food," Michael says.

I hate to agree with him, but he's kind of right. They're piling around us, thinking we have something for them, but we don't. We spend quite a bit of time watching them peck at nothing and strut around, making sounds, before Michael decides we should do something else. "Let's ask your parents if we can go down by the water. As much as I'd love to stare at fowl all day…"

Michael grabs my hand again, which I normally wouldn't mind (I love holding hands with Michael) but I know it's not just because he's my special friend. He's being an over-protective-worrywart like he was when I was heading outside in the first place, probably thinking I'm going to take off like some baby. I let him hold my hand and don't complain, though. We're around the back way now of this weirdly-built house. I overheard someone telling Daddy earlier, it was built in the late eighteen hundreds. Sounds like a great place for ghosts to hang out. Am I gonna find out this was built over an ancient, First Nation's burial ground next? like a bad, eighties, horror movie?

We (conveniently) find Daddy first. "You need a break from him Michael?" Daddy says and I'm insulted. I'm not a fucking hot potato.

"No sir. I just wanted to check that it was all right to take him down to the lake?"

Daddy looks perplexed. "We, uh, come with me," he says. I already know that means he has to ask Papa. Daddy asks Papa a lot of things before he does them.

Michael doesn't look happy about that, but there's not much to say about it. Papa's an important guy in our family. We do what he says. The three of us head over to Papa, who's chatting with another wedding guest. "Cas, can we talk to you a moment?"

Papa nods. "Excuse me, please," he says. The four of us, walk a ways down the hill that leads to the lake. Other guests from the wedding have already decided to partake in the water activities and are hanging out on a large inner tube that's anchored out in the lake. This is a strange fucking wedding.

"We were wondering if you would be all right with Michael taking Dean down there?" Daddy asks.

I didn't think Papa could be terrified, but he is. "You'd be all right with that, Sam?"

I feel like Papa has an alternate meaning to his question—like he's not just confirming with Daddy, but my brain won't put together what that other meaning might be. And dammit, I'm confused. This conversation's already going over my head, like it might for a goddamn baby. Or at least a little person. Fuck. Damn. Fuck. They're right, aren't they?

"I would, Cas," Daddy says. Is there apprehension there? I can't fucking tell.

I can tell Papa is upset. He looks over to Michael. "Was this your idea?"

It kind of was. It totally was. But it was only because Michael could tell our time with the chickens was running out. Sure I hadn't grown bored of them yet, but Michael's starting to get to know me pretty well, and I would have been bored of them soon. Okay, I'm going to say it: you've got to stay one step ahead of a toddler's mind.

"I was only thinking that… you see sir I… he would have…" sigh, "yes, sir. It was my idea."

"Take him back to the chickens. That'll keep him busy for a while yet, then maybe I can take him down to the lake after. Jeez Sam. We're not allowing the strange, eight-year-old boy take our infant," _toddler, Papa,_ "down to the water where he's likely to drown."

Hey. Let's not go that far. Okay, so I may be slightly going toddler, but I'm not dumb as rocks.

"Yes, sir," Daddy says too, sensing Papa's distress.

"I-I-I'll take him back to the chickens, sir," Michael says wanting to get the fuck out of here.

But I have something to say about this. "No tick-kuns, Pah-pa! No!"

Papa peers down at me. "Did he just say…?"

"No! Tick-kuns!" I say it louder hoping that'll do the trick. I point to the water for good measure. If anyone's to blame, it's Papa. He showed it to me earlier.

"He did. He said chickens," Papa says, scooping me up and tossing me a daddyceptable amount into the air. "Wow, Dean. Another word. Papa's real proud of you, kiddo."

I beam at the praise; Papa's praise is pretty significant to me. I look toward Daddy who isn't as excited as he should be over my accomplishment. "Tick-kun," I say again to Daddy.

He finally smiles. "Daddy's proud of you too baby boy. Look Cas, would you feel better if I had him for a bit? I can take him in the water with Michael."

Oh yeah, that.

"I should think so, Sam," Papa says, passing me over to Daddy. Guess he still won't let that go. "I'll join you all in a bit then."

Papa storms away and I'm left with Daddy and Michael, who aren't really acting like Daddy and Michael. They exchange a look. "See Mr. Winchester? I told you. He hates me."

"And I told you, he's over protective. C'mon, let's go get swim stuff Michael."

"I don't have any," Michael complains.

"I brought you some," Daddy says walking up the path with me.

"Tick-kuns," I repeat, because I feel like I've been lost in this conversation.

"You want the chickens now?" Daddy asks. When did Daddy lose his ability to understand me?

"No Dah-dee!"

"Okay. No chickens. Daddy's got it." That cheers him up. He's smiling. "We might as well change him while we're in here, huh Dean Bean?"

I don't bother answering. He's not really asking anyway. He used to, not so long ago, but that's stopped—FYI, I'm going to spend the rest of my day noting these things. Daddy pulls some shorts out of my diaper bag that are for Michael and Michael heads off to put them on. Daddy lays me out on the floor again, for another diaper change.

"No Tick-kuns, Daddy," I tell him again. I feel like it's important for some reason.

"Daddy's got it sweetpea. No chickens." Daddy looks a bit sad though. I wonder how I can cheer him up some more? I watch him closely as he finishes changing me; I'm not sure what his problem is. Michael returns in the blue shorts Daddy brought for him. "There's some sunscreen in the bag there Michael."

"I don't need—uh, yes Mr. Winchester." Michael changes his tune pretty quick when Daddy gives him a certain look.

"I'm going to go change. Be right back," Daddy says to Michael.

I get up to check Michael out. He looks skinny in nothing but the shorts. He doesn't put sunscreen on, instead, tossing it back in the bag. "I do enough for you," he says all fucking grouchy. "I'm not wearing that crap. You're a pain in my ass you know?"

Whatever. I decide to dig around in the diaper bag. There must be another soother in here somewhere. I've got the one in my mouth, but it's always nicer to have one in my hand too. Michael doesn't seem to care what I do at the moment, so long as I'm not killing myself, I guess. Maybe I should hunt whatever ghost is probably haunting this place while I'm here. I'm not going to get very far, but it's better than hanging out with these three. None of my party companions seem happy, and I refuse to let them cramp my style.

I can't find another soother, so I keep digging, throwing stuff out of the bag. Besides, isn't that what a baby would do anyway? "Would you stop that?" Michael says.

"No."

That's about as hard as Michael tries. Other wedding guests come in and out, but no one does anything about the dumb baby on the floor destroying the diaper bag, instead they just coo and think I'm fucking cute.

When Daddy comes down and sees what I've done, he freaks… at Michael. "Michael! I told you to watch him." Daddy seizes the baby wipes I was about to open and throw all over the place. I squeal. "Sorry Dean Bean, you weren't supposed to have those."

I finally spot the soother I was looking for anyway. I move to grab it, but Daddy grabs the bag; he's a lot faster. "Sue. Sue!" I say behind the soother in my mouth.

"I don't think so, pumpkin. Michael. I'm waiting for an explanation."

Michael doesn't look like he was prepared to give one. He fumbles and stutters his words 'till he finally comes up with, "he said no and was difficult. He didn't listen to me."

Daddy begins picking up my mess. "If Cas saw him doing that… least he didn't get into the zinc-o-fax, again," Daddy mutters. "Oh well, that's great Michael, let the toddler tell you what to do."

If anyone wanted my opinion, which they don't because _I'm just a baby_ , I'd say Daddy's being a little more harsh than usual.

"I'm, I'm sorry Mr. Winchester."

"No, I mean, it's okay Michael, just grab him."

 _Him_ is about to go play in the plant (I'm glad to see they have those here too) because I'm getting tired of not doing anything. Michael grabs my hand. "No," he tells me, monosyllabic, like I might not be able to understand anything else.

I squeal again. "Someone is a spoiled brat," Michael says for my ears only. I give him the best stink-eye I've got.

When Daddy's finished cleaning up my mess, he puts the diaper bag in the corner and scoops me up. "C'mere my little rebel. Whatch'you doin' gettin' into all the stuff, huh?"

I laugh at Daddy. I do like bein' his little rebel. What? That's allowed.

"Sorry Michael. I'm a little stressed out. This was supposed to be a cool first-time thing and it's all going awry."

"That's okay Mr. Winchester. I could be doing a better job. I was supposed to be the babysitter."

"Not babysitter. Friend. Anyway, let's just have a good time in the water and not stress Cas out anymore."

Papa's stressed out?

The pair of them take me down to the water. I point out to Daddy that there are rocks I want to play with, so he puts me down and I pick up the biggest rock I can find.

When Papa finally makes his way down to us, he's grouchy. "Who has a beach wedding, anyway?" Papa says, none too happy with anything. He crosses his arms, and scowls at the lake he was telling me he loved so much before, and then I don't fucking get him, he just got here, but he storms away.

Present Time – Whenever that is

"I don't recall being in a bad mood that day," Papa says. "We had a nice time."

Well I'm not arguing with him. He sounds tetchy as it is. And by the looks of things, I don't have to. Daddy looks ready to take him on. In his own way of course, but taking Papa on is a fine art he's perfected and most of us don't fuck around with trying; we leave that to Daddy. "We did have a nice time Cassy, but your papa bear instincts were at an all time high that day. Dean was new to our home."

Papa seems to be considering that. "I suppose you're right. But I made up for my overbearing, protectiveness."

Daddy doesn't look like he fully agrees, but he walks over to behind Papa and squeezes him. "It's the way we love you, Cas. Don't we Dean?"

"We do, Papa," I say, and it's the truth even if I wish I were sitting next to Michael right now.

"So what happened?" Uncle Dal asks.

"Not much," Daddy says. "We took Dean to play in the water. He loved it, and so did Cas."

Why do I feel like that's not the whole story?

***

Hmmmmm. While this story took some time to rekindle the memory of that weekend, it's all come back, and I remember something. I _was_ in a bad mood that day, I was a new parent, worried sick about Dean and him drowning to death, or having his face pecked off by a chicken. And I was much worse than Sam has let on; he's been doing some editing of this story.

Back to the Wedding

Everyone knows how much I love and adore Sam, but on occasion I get annoyed with him. He knows how much I need to have my family set up comfortably and taken care of. He also knows I need my boundaries with Dean pushed, so Dean doesn't end up locked away in a cushioned room—but does he have to test so many boundaries at once? Today alone, I've had to put up with Michael looking after him (and doing a piss-poor job of it if you should want my opinion), Dean dressed like a hooligan, Dean with chickens (which I have been guilty of suggesting, but that seems less disastrous than the other two), and now he wants me to allow Dean to play in the largest lake I've ever seen, alone with Michael? What is that man thinking? Well he's not I tell you. This is too much for me in one day. I'm a reasonable sort of man, most of the time, but I need to be worked into these sorts of things one at a time.

Lucky for me, I can spank Sam.

I have full designs on spanking him, and I'm planning how to do it, as I walk through the large, old home in nothing but my board shorts. Imagine. "Looking for something, Cassy?"

Few people, aside from my husband, call me 'Cassy'. I know in this case it's Joan's grandmother. "No." And suddenly, I sound no more than a pouty boy, something I'm not sure I ever truly was.

She smiles anyway. "You know Cassy, I like your boy—he's a very good boy."

I smile too, because Dean is. "Thank you, Madeline. We are proud to have Dean."

"Dean? Oh, I'm sorry dear. I thought his name was Michael. My mistake. Lovely boy though, taking care of that—"

"—Michael? No, no it's—"

"—infant the way he was. You'd think that boy was protecting a national treasure—"

"—Madeline, I think you—"

"A chip off the old block, eh? I know he's not yours by blood, but by golly, he does look up to you."

I give up, she's not giving me a word edge-wise, and I'm intrigued, Michael looks up to me? "You think?"

"Definitely. Our son used to look up to my late husband the same way when he was a boy. Shines right there in his eyes—he wants to do right by you."

I'm baffled. I was certain I had ensured Michael would hate me. What's he doing looking up to me? "You sure he's not just worried he'll be in trouble for disobeying, um, his father?" Um is also not something I say, but apparently with Madeline, I do.

"Nope. No. It's worship. He adores you, Cassy. Good job."

She pats me on the back and carries on her way; big smile shining through. I'm left wondering what the hell I do. Chase her down, and correct her? or head back to my family?

I look to the sky. The sun is still hot and bright, but I know in just an hour, it will begin its decent, and this day will be beginning its end. It seems the days between now, and when we got Dean, begin and end so quickly; speeding by, flipping faster than pages in a book, telling the story of our lives, the end approaching with and expediency I wished it wouldn't. Time spent up here alone, is time wasted.

I head back.

When I'm there, I watch the trio first, before I join them, or even alert them that I'm present. Sam is the happiest I've ever seen him. Even when his ribs were broken, his smile, the new one he's had since Dean, has never faltered. Dean's the sun in his daddy's sky, and by the way Dean looks at Sam, it's the same for Dean. Sam is cautiously throwing him up in the air. With his height and size, he could really give Dean some air, but he doesn't, only tossing him the Daddyceptable amount skyward, before catching him, and kissing his face a zillion times. Dean laughs, having a ball, and I notice something I'm not sure that I have before.

Michael.

He's uncomfortable with Sam throwing Dean up in the air like that, no, not uncomfortable—downright angry. He's scowling in a way I've never observed, or maybe I have, but missed because I was too busy hating the boy. He wants to take Dean from Sam. It's kinda, well it's kinda hilarious. As if Sam would do anything to harm Dean.

"Don't worry Michael, Dean's perfectly safe. Here, you wan'im?" Sam asks.

Even Sam's aware of Michael's displeasure.

"I should say. Who knows what's in this lake? I bet it's infested with parasites Dean's immune system has never seen before. What if he falls in and drinks the water?"

Sam passes Dean to Michael. "He'll be fine." Then I see my husband get a mischievous look about him, and I know what he's going to do. He uses both his large hands, and swipes a wave of water to both Dean and Michael.

Dean shrieks with glee, loving how silly his daddy is being, Michael has reached a new level of displeased. I don't let him see my face, but for the first time (or that I can recall) I'm amused by his sour face, and I analyze him. Does he really adore me? I don’t see it.

"Papa! Papa!" Dean says, trying to splash water at me, but instead getting Michael.

"I hate this. I hate this! Mr. Winchester, haven't we had enough? Take him. I want out of this nonsense."

Sam's laughing at him too. "All of us have, but look at Dean. He's loving it. Won't you stay for just a bit longer?"

Michael nods, and I can see how hard it is for him. He really does hate this, but he's doing it for Dean. We play awhile longer, Sam's long locks dripping from having dunked himself numerous time (I make sure to admire his torso, with the droplets trailing down it), Michael's also drenched, his lofty bangs plastered to his forehead and Dean's curls have flattened. I have managed to stay relatively dry; no one dared to splash me, but Dean and he can only do so much damage.

"Watcha looking at, Cassy?" Sam says, walking toward me. He looks back at Michael and Dean, still playing together, then back to me. He doesn't say a word, but he doesn't have to, I can read his face, which says he knows what I'm thinking. Even I don't want to say what I'm thinking, it's too frightening to contemplate. I reach out and grab the waistband of Sam's shorts, and pull him to me.

"I can't wait to spank you later," I whisper into his ear, so the kids can't hear, only I distinctly hear the sound of Michael freezing his play with Dean in the water, momentarily. Can he hear me?

"Kinda looking forward to that, to be honest," he says a little downtrodden.

I pull back to look at his face. "Something the matter?" In all my stomping around, I've missed something. I don't miss much, but I am still human, and it happens from time to time.

"I'm feeling—Cas, I'm sorry. All my excitement over this day has me forgetting about you. This must be hard for you, and I've pushed you too much."

Fuck. He's lost that sunny smile, the infallible one he's had since Dean came home, and I want him to have it back. Now. "You're not wrong. It has been a bit much, and a spanking will do you good for a few reasons, but it's okay now Sam."

His eyes light up again. "I must admit, seeing you storm off earlier was somewhat amusing."

"Well now you're just pushing your luck," I tease.

"Even Dean laughed. He said, 'Pah-pa gone!' and pointed. His little face looked shocked for a beat, but then he burst into laughter."

Despite myself, I smile. It's hard to be upset with anything that could make Dean laugh that hard. "I supposed I did look funny."

"A little."

Sam and I proceed to stare into each other's eyes, lost to each other, until we hear displeased squealing. "No! No! No! Eeeeeeeee! Dah-dee! Dah-dee!"

I turn around fully expecting my worst predictions coming true, only to find Michael's simply walking out of the water with him. "I know this diaper is meant to be water proof, but I sense it requires changing; he does not want to leave the water."

It's my turn to laugh. "Thank you, Michael. I'll take him," I say, reaching over to grab my son, who quiets immediately for me. Dean doesn't know quite what to make of me yet. His baby brain, and his big brain seem to know I'm the one in charge, but not what to do about it. I think we need some more Dean and Papa days. "Is it time to change your diaper, Kiddo?"

"Pah-pa," Dean says pointing to the water. I'm proud of myself for understanding he's trying to relay he wants to play some more, and find it interesting how he's chosen a distinct change in behavior.

"Don't worry little man, we'll come back."

Back to the Storytelling Kitchen

"Are we done with this story, yet?" Michael says.

"Yeah. It was good, but I want to go play with Michael, Papa," Dean whines.

"I think we're done," I say, but look over to Sam. "Are we done?"

"Yes, we are," he answers.

"Oh good. Can we go Papa?"

"How about a may we be excused? Jesus Dean, you know better. You weren't raised in a barn."

"May we be excused, please Papa?"

"You may."

Even Michael is generous with his excitement over leaving the table and the storytelling kitchen. "I'm afraid I need to be excused too," Dallas says, "may I Cas?"

I smile at him for choosing to be respectful of house rules, even at his age and stature. I know it's not always easy. "Of course, Dallas."

When just Sam and I are left, my husband eyes me wryly. "What?"

"You left something out of the story."

"So did you."

"I know your father's way was to make you think he didn't care as much as he did, but you don't have to continue to do the same to Michael, Cas."

"I'm not sure that's a respectful tone."

"It is. You're just not fond of what I'm saying, and I understand that, but Cas, the gig is up."

"My father's methods worked on me."

Sam gives me that look of his that means I'm full of it, even if he won't say so. "I'm not telling you what to do Cassy," a little bit he is, "I'm just sayin' is all."

"Fine. I will admit that my mind was changed that day. I looked at Michael differently."

"Mmmmhmm, and something else."

I guess he's not letting this one go, regardless of any trouble he might get himself into. "Something else too."

Back to the wedding

"Cassy, I have to pee. Will you change Dean for me?"

"I can change my son," I say. I'm a bit indignant. Sometimes I wonder if Sam thinks I'm incompetent when it comes to Dean, and I get defensive.

"Michael, will you show him where the diaper bag is? Thanks. And put on more sunscreen it will have gone by now."

I don't have time to scold him for that, (I don't need him sending Michael with me) nor does he have time to see the dark look I give him because he's off to the restroom. _He did that on purpose, didn't he?_ I look to Michael and he does something I don't intend for, he flinches like I was about to hit him. Did he think I would hit him? We stare at one another a long while, until I decipher that he's angry with himself for flinching and another thing, Madeline was right—the boy looks up to me, though I can't fathom why. I've done everything in my power to send the boy away, make sure he loses interest in ceasing his almost daily visits. There's something else in his eyes too though. Something that says 'bring it', that says, 'do your worst'. I know it's for Dean, and that I can respect. All right, fine, I accept his desire to fight to be in my son's life, but everyday I get to make the same decision as to whether or not he stays. Today he's earned a yes. And I don't want a little _boy_ or whatever he is, to think I'm going to hit him. It would be different if he were some powerful entity, or even a grown adult, and then I wouldn't hesitate to have him that kind of scared of me on Dean's behalf. "Very well, come along Michael. Show me where the diaper bag is."

Michael leads the way into the house and to the busy living room. People watch the three of us from the corners of their eyes. I lay Dean down on his changing pad, and let Michael hand me supplies. "Didn't Sam say something about sunscreen?" I say, when I've got all I need.

The boy nods, and reaches into the bag for the sunscreen.

"There should always be a 'yes sir' when I tell you to do something, Michael."

"Yes, sir."

"Look at my boys working so nicely together," Sam says, walking from the stairs, into the living room.

"Dah-deeeee," Dean says, starting to cry and reaching, just as I'm taping him up.

"I swear he was fine just a second ago," I say to Sam, still feeling a little like I have to prove I can take care of Dean, that I didn't do anything to upset him.

"I know that cry, c'mere my baby boy. You're tired, aren't you?" Sam says, plucking him up. Then, easy as you please, Sam reaches into the bag, pulls out a bottle and whisks Dean off in nothing but his diaper. I suppose it is a hot day, but for Christ's sake Sam, we're at a wedding, even if it's the most casual wedding I've ever been too. I guess this means we're not going back into the water, and now I'm feeling silly standing around in my board shorts, while the other guests are still in their wedding fare. "Sir? W-wou-would it be all right to put my other clothes back on, since it looks like the water is finished?" I guess Michael feels silly too.

"You may." Hopefully we get to go home soon, I don't add. I love Rachel and Joan, but this day has been stressful. I just want to go home, and spank Sam.

Michael grabs his clothes from a pile near the diaper bag where they sat, neatly folded. "Where should I…?"

"Oh, um, come with me." I left my proper clothes up in one of the bedrooms. I take Michael there now and decide I might as well change too while I'm in here. I help myself to a couple towels from the ensuite bathroom, and hand one to Michael. We dry off some, and I decide on only my slacks, and dress shirt, but leave the top couple buttons undone. It's flipping hot. I notice that Michael redresses in everything again, even his little blazer, he looks ready for his first day of private school. "Don't be ridiculous, you don't need all those clothes."

"I-if it's all the same to you Mr. Winchester, I'd like to remain dressed as I am."

The boy is scared, and yet he stands up to me anyway—over clothes. I look at him like he's an intriguing piece of lint; wondering how it got there and whence it came, but still ready to pluck it off my sweater and toss it if it's ruining the integrity of said sweater. "Okay, Michael. You're fine, but if you begin to sweat, take the blazer off at least."

Dressed and ready, Michael and I head downstairs to find Dean has fallen asleep, but Sam has placed him on a blanket, surrounded by pillows on the floor. I'm about to have a conniption, but Michael gets to it first. "No, no, no. This, just no. I'll hold Dean in my arms for ten hours straight before he'll sleep on the floor like that. People are in and out with shoes. It's got to be filthy. I don't care what kind of immunity benefits you'll think he'll get from being exposed to dirt!"

Michael storms past Sam and over to Dean, but Sam catches him. "Michael, he's fine."

Sam is only enough to give Michael pause, but the determination is still on fire, and I'm shocked when he looks to me. Whether or not he even obeys _me_ in this is questionable, but he's still asking, only with his eyes, out of respect for Sam. "Go ahead Michael."

Sam is too shocked to do anything other than bug his eyes, and stare at me in disbelief, but it's not long before his body relaxes, and he realizes the magnitude of what just happened, and his shock transforms to pleased. Michael uses extreme care when lifting Dean, who barely even stirs at the disruption. I hope I'm the only one other than Sam, noting how easy it is for him to do so—we don't know what Michael is, but more and more I conclude he's not human. Michael arranges Dean in his arms, fully intent on following through with his promise to stand there all day if need be, but that would draw attention. "Have a seat on the couch over there Michael," I say quietly.

"Yes, sir."

Michael sits and I can feel the invisible shield of protection he's laced around Dean by sheer will. I check in in my husband, who's smiling a little too brightly now.

Back to the Kitchen

"I was too happy to care that you two could have woken Dean when I'd just got him to sleep," Sam says.

"You know, I don't think I ever spanked you for that—leaving my son on a dirty, wedding-guest-tracked, living room floor." I pretend to contemplate that seriously.

"I believe I did get a spanking that day, and quite a good one if I recall."

"Not for the floor thing."

"True, but you said that wasn't deserving of a spanking."

"Perhaps I made an error in judgment," I say. He knows I just feel like spanking him.

"In that case, we do have some unexpected time to ourselves," he says, his eyes full of lust.

It's true, we do. Not to mention, that somehow, our time to ourselves has become more limited now that Dean's older, than when he was a babe. "Come. I have some serious making up to do."

The Empty Kitchen: Narrator

Everyone is gone except for the imprints of time this kitchen has seen. Dean's bubbly, baby laughter filling the kitchen that was once silent with a only pair of newlyweds, and his footsteps toddle on the soft-tiled floor (special tiles Papa had installed when their baby boy fell too many times) followed by the faithful steps of Dean's trusty pal, Pala.

Many happy memories live here, like the mealtimes, and the holiday baking, even the jarring of the beans, despite the stress that sometimes accompanied it. There are prints of singing, and a guitar drifting over the entire kitchen, Uncle Dal, with his rolled up sleeves, ripped jeans and a Stetson, the love of his life, Chris, by his side.

There are some not-so-happy memories too, like serious cups of tea, and tears, and heartbreak. But all the good that's happened here, in the kitchen, can withstand the heartbreak, not to mention, there's nothing a good cup of tea can't fix—especially when there's a giant family of people who love you, even if you're an ancient angel, who's not exactly sure what to make of all that.

Always lingering, embedded into every laugh, and every tear, is ghost of the man who's never gone, but also never here. He hangs around, watching over the family of this kitchen, his family, thinking to himself that he's done a pretty stellar job if he does say so—a stellar job of keeping his family safe. There's still much to do, still so much story to tell, but for today he can take a break, have a metaphorical beer, and enjoy the feel of contentment.


End file.
